Conversations with a Mad Gryffindor
by radical-rebel
Summary: Harry wants to converse with Draco. Draco thinks Harry's gone 'round the bend. HPDM. Set after Deathly Hallows, but not compliant with the epilogue.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Greetings, dear readers! The piece you are about to read is the first chapter of my second-ever full-length story! Cue applause. And it's a Harry/Draco one, too! Oh, my excitement is reaching epic proportions!_

_So here's the deal: the setting is post-DH, but it's not epilogue-compliant. In my imaginary world, year 7 has to be repeated (we all want our young wizards properly educated, don't we?). Harry has started trying to talk to Draco. Draco thinks Harry's mental. But of course, they strike up a bizarre friendship anyway, and that friendship eventually leads to the realization of deeper, previously-ignored feelings. Draco gets to narrate the story._

_The whole thing is four chapters long. As per my usual, I have already completed it and will be posting new chapters at an interval of every three or four days. Reviews make me more inclined to post a chapter sooner, naturally. :D Also as usual, I would be most appreciative if you were to notify me of any mistakes you might notice. This fic has been edited multiple times, both by me and by my favorite person ever (ie, my beta), but we're only human, and we can't catch every single mistake._

_Right. I think that's it. Oh, and just another reminder: please review! Reviews make my day! But keep in mind, flames are not at all tolerated, and will be deleted immediately. If you don't like Harry/Draco, or don't like slash, please click the back button now. Thank you, and enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, the whole epilogue would never have happened. Trust me - I don't own it._

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

The compulsion to grind my teeth together was almost impossible to resist. I sank lower into my armchair and stuck my nose inside the book I was reading until it almost brushed the pages. Unfortunately, this did nothing to block out the sound of Pansy's next ear-splitting shriek.

"Theodore Nott, you are absolutely wretched and I hope you die!"

I cringed. Ever since Nott had told Pansy that he "wasn't ready for a relationship," none of the Slytherins had had a moment's peace. Pansy could never do anything quietly. The break-up had taken place in the Slytherin common room, but we suspected it had been heard all the way up in Gryffindor tower. Afterwards, Pansy had been so upset that she had taken to following Nott everywhere he went, if only to keep up their almost-continual shouting matches.

Then, to no one's surprise except Pansy's, she caught Nott with a Ravenclaw girl under the Quidditch bleachers. That was the last straw for poor Pansy. The two could no longer be in the same room without attempting to strangle each other.

"At least if I die, you won't be able to stalk me!" Nott yelled. Another furious scream echoed around the room, followed immediately by an enormous crash.

Oh, lovely. Pansy was throwing things.

In the armchair next to mine, a fourth year girl curled up into a ball and covered her head with a pillow. I was seriously considering doing the same when I felt a tap on my right shoulder. A tall sixth year called Winston Hayes stood there, holding a small red box.

"Hey Malfoy, I'm selling earplugs," he said. "You interested?"

I glanced apprehensively at the box. "Anything funny about them?" Hayes was infamous for his self-made, and most often dangerous, experiments.

"Well, I only just finished this batch," he explained. "They're made specifically to block out all sound, no matter how loud or high-pitched." He lifted the lid to show me a collection of tiny, round plugs, each about the size of a Knut. "Not only that, but they also adjust to your ear size automatically as soon as you put them in. Rather handy, eh? And all yours, for only four Galleons a piece."

"Isn't that a bit much for earplugs, Hayes?"

He looked around to make sure that no one was watching, then leaned forward and whispered, "Look, I figured, what with the current events and all, I'd make a bit more of a profit if I charged more than my normal price. People are desperate, you know?"

He jerked a thumb in the direction of the fight. At that exact moment, Nott began to jump up and down, cursing at tremendous volume; Pansy had just hexed him. A group of first years made for the exit at a hasty run.

"So, you interested?" Hayes repeated, grinning widely.

"No, thanks." I marked my page in my book and stood up. "But if I were you, I'd try my neighbor." I pointed to the fourth year, whose long brown hair was just visible underneath her defensive pillow. Hayes beamed and strode off without another word. Shaking my head, I tucked my book under my arm and followed the example of the first years.

Aside from the odd passerby, I had the hallways entirely to myself. Most students were working on homework in the library or in their common rooms. It was the second week back at school, and teachers at Hogwarts were notoriously heavy on homework in the second week. I found myself feeling rather jealous; I had already finished all of my homework, my sudden studiousness stemming from my attempts to block out Pansy and Nott's constant bickering. It hadn't even worked, and now I had nothing to do.

I walked without paying much attention to where I was going. In all honesty, I was too happy to simply _be_ at Hogwarts to need a destination. After Voldemort had been defeated (I had promised myself: now that he was gone, I would refer to him by his name), there had been some discussion over what should be done about the past school year. It had, obviously, been rather chaotic. Some children had been pulled out of school and some had remained, but those who had stayed had been under the control of the Death Eaters whom Voldemort had stationed there. Many people believed – quite logically, in my opinion – that no one could have learned in such an environment. There was a committee, and some sort of a vote was held, and eventually they came to the conclusion that the school year would simply have to be repeated.

Although I would never admit it, I was thrilled at the chance to have one more year at Hogwarts. The place felt more like a home to me than anywhere else I could imagine – even more so than my own home. Which was sad, really. Even when World War III was taking place in my common room, I would rather be _there_ than at Malfoy Manor.

I wandered aimlessly until I found myself out on the grounds. The sun shone magnificently through the clouds, illuminating every corner and crevice, leaving not a speck of darkness behind. Under an old oak tree in the middle of a courtyard was a conveniently placed bench, and I sat down there. I had almost forgotten the sound of silence; it was more glorious than I remembered. I spent one minute just sitting there, soaking up the silence. Then I flipped open my book and immersed myself in it.

It was a compilation of essays on how to use colors to reproduce various painting techniques – something I had taken an interest in recently. I understood only about half of what I read, so I had to go read most of it twice in order to fully grasp the concepts. It was terribly fascinating, though, so I couldn't say I minded much.

I couldn't have been there for more than five minutes when I felt someone sit down beside me.

Looking up was pointless, so I didn't bother. My visitor was probably just another poor Slytherin, trying to escape the madness of the common room. Or maybe it was Pansy herself, having fought as much as she could with Nott and come in search of me. If it _wasn't_ Pansy, then whoever it was probably wasn't worth my time; if it _was_ Pansy, then I didn't want to talk to her anyway.

It was neither.

"_Common Theories on the Use of Color._ Interesting. Are you an artist then, Malfoy?"

The voice was male, and familiar too. If only I could place it...

Oh, Merlin. Potter was sitting next to me.

To my immense chagrin, I shrieked, jumped about a meter into the air, and flung my book halfway across the courtyard.

"What the hell, Potter?" I gasped. "Are you trying to frighten me to death? Because if so, you very nearly succeeded!"

He actually looked repentant, an emotion that I was sure I'd never seen on his face before. "Sorry," he mumbled, his eyes apologetic behind his glasses.

I made a show of straightening my shirt and smoothing my hair. There was nothing wrong with them, of course, but I wanted to make Potter feel even guiltier for startling me. I couldn't tell if it worked. He just stared pensively at his feet.

"Well?" I snapped. "What do you want?"

He shook himself out of his thoughts and looked back up at me. "Nothing," he said quickly. "Just thought I'd say hello."

I blinked. "You 'just thought you'd say hello,'" I repeated slowly, my voice deadpan.

"Um, yeah. I was just walking by, and I saw you, so I figured I say something." His tone was nonchalant, but there was a hint of nervousness behind it. I didn't blame him; he _was_ trying to strike up a conversation with his mortal enemy, after all.

"Er." Apparently, I was incapable of forming an actual sentence. I kept expecting him to whip out his wand, hex me into oblivion, and run away laughing. That's what I would have done if I were him.

Okay, maybe not to that extreme; I had no desire to end up in Azkaban on Potter's account.

Since neither of us seemed to be able to say anything (willingly or otherwise), we simply stared at each other. I noted that Potter's hair still stuck up in odd directions, and wondered absently if he even bothered to comb it.

At length, Potter glanced over at my book, which was laying face down in the grass – probably on the wrong page, too.

"So, _are_ you an artist?" he asked hesitantly.

That was too much for me.

"Who are you and what have you done with Harry Potter?" I cried incredulously, waving my arms in the air for punctuation, all traces of Malfoy dignity completely abandoned.

His green eyes flashed. He opened his mouth, presumably to spit out some horridly lame, Potter-like retort, and I braced myself.

But the words never came. Instead, he closed his mouth pointedly. His eyes squeezed tightly shut for just a split second, and when he opened them again, he looked almost completely calm.

"Well?" he asked lightly.

It took me a moment to realize that he was referring to his question regarding my artistic habits. In a valiant attempt to preserve any ounce of dignity that I still possessed, I used all of my energy to keep from gaping. This was absolutely unthinkable! I tried to recall even one occasion when Potter had successfully managed to control his temper. I couldn't.

So I gave up. Mostly because fighting with Potter when he so obviously wasn't going to react was a waste of my time, but also because I was somewhat curious: what was Potter up to? Wasn't he supposed to hate me? And if so, why was he trying so hard keep that temper of his in check?

I sighed heavily. "Yes, I suppose I am."

"I see." Potter nodded. "How long have you..."

I knew what he wanted to ask without him needing to finish his question. "Since I was a child."

"Oh. And, um, what sorts of art do you do?"

"Just sketches, mostly. Pencil and parchment. Charcoal, if I can get it."

"Are you any good?"

"Of course I am!" I said, somewhat affronted. "I _have_ been working at this for years, Potter; I would have to be an utter troll not to have developed at least _some _talent."

He shook his head, chuckling softly. My eyes widened almost painfully; there was another action I was sure I had never seen from him.

"So, are you thinking of coloring your work now?" he went on.

This question baffled me. "What?" I asked, frowning.

Potter jerked his head in the direction of the book. "_Common Theories on the Use of Color_," he repeated. "I was just curious... how does that fit in?"

"Oh." I nodded in understanding. "No, I don't plan on coloring any of my sketches. I'm researching painting techniques, if you must know."

Potter sat forward, resting elbows on his knees and interlocking his fingers. "Are you going to take up painting, then?"

"I'd like to. I've always been interested in it. I don't know much now, but I've been taking books out of the library, and if I can learn enough–"

Abruptly, I cut myself off. I had intended to keep as my answers as short and to the point as possible, hoping that if I did, maybe Potter would leave me alone. What was I doing, rambling on about myself to Harry Potter, of all people? I ought to just shut up and leave while I still could.

"Can you do that?" he asked, oblivious to my internal dilemma. "Teach yourself to paint, I mean? I always thought that artistic skill was something you were just born with."

"Why ever couldn't you?" I replied instantly, forgetting all about my resolve. "People teach themselves new things every day, Potter. Of course, I can't deny that there are naturally talented people in the world, but most of them have to study to improve that talent."

Potter considered me, a peculiar expression on his face. "You may be right, Malfoy."

"I'm always right, Potter," I retorted.

Again, we said nothing. I drummed my fingers against the seat of the bench. I wasn't at all sure that I liked these silences.

"Have I satisfied your curiosity yet, Potter?"

"What?" He looked up. "Oh. Sort of. But I have to go; I promised Ron and Hermione I'd meet them at the library about half an hour ago. Be seeing you, Malfoy."

And with that, he stood up and tromped off in the direction of the castle.

Now that he was gone, I gave myself full permission to gape. My jaw dropped, my eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets, and I stared harder than ever before. Potter had just spoken with me for a good ten minutes. And not only that, but I had spoken back. I couldn't wrap my mind around it. For some time, I didn't move from the spot where he had left me. I couldn't seem to convince my limbs that moving was a reasonable request.

"He's mad," I said at last, shaking my head as if the action could somehow strengthen the realization. "Absolutely bloody mad."

Then again, I probably didn't look all that sane myself, sitting alone on a bench, gaping – and talking – at nothing. Quickly, I retrieved my book and made my way back down to the Slytherin common room. Maybe Pansy and Nott had murdered each other while I'd been away. One could only hope.

* * *

"Draco! Draco, stop moving!"

I turned around slowly, as if the source of the voice might explode if I made any sudden movements. And really, she might. It was Pansy. She stood at the top of the girls' staircase, her small eyes narrowed and her hands planted on her hips.

Much to the disappointment of the Slytherin body, she and Nott had not managed to dispatch of each other during their last fight. In fact, he only results they achieved were a wrecked common room, some singed hair, and two even angrier exes. Neither of them left their dormitories for the rest of the weekend; they were too busy sulking.

During that time, I managed to convince myself that the whole conversation between Potter and me had been some sort of fluke. Those Gryffindors _were_ strange creatures, I reminded myself. Maybe one of them had created a potion that could let them control someone's actions, and they had given it to Potter, just for a good laugh. I was sure I'd heard of potions like that before, and Gryffindors _were_ occasionally smart. They could have pulled it off.

Then again, maybe it had been a dare. I could see one of them daring Potter to talk to me, and the rest crowding around the windows to watch like Roman spectators at a gladiatorial match. This idea had made me somewhat paranoid, and for the following two hours I sank into a couch and concealed myself amongst the pillows to keep from sight. Later, I told myself sternly that I shouldn't worry. If it was a dare, at least I knew Potter would have no reason to ever speak to me again.

I had to pace while I considered that option; for some reason, it didn't please me as much as I thought it should have.

"Draco, come here _now_!" Pansy hissed, interrupting my thoughts. Sighing, I strode forward to meet her at the bottom of the stairs.

"What?" I asked, my annoyance barely masked. I had been hoping to avoid her. She was bound to spend the entire morning regaling anyone close enough to listen with tales of her heroic victory against her hideous foe.

"Walk me to breakfast," she demanded.

I raised one eyebrow delicately. "Pansy, don't tell me you're afraid of Nott," I said. "You turned his shoes into venomous pythons that tried to swallow his feet whole, for Merlin's sake! You can't honestly be afraid of him."

Pansy glowered at me. "Oh, har, har. I'm not afraid of him, dolt. I'd love nothing more than to hex his stupid, ugly lights out. But my roommates won't let me leave until they see someone else is with me. For some reason, they seem to think I need keeping an eye on."

For the first time during our conversation, I noticed that Delia Withers was peering around the corner at the top of the stairs. As soon as she saw me, she gestured at Pansy and gave me a pointed glare. Clearly I was to accompany the girl. I nodded with resignation.

"Alright. Fine," I grumbled. "Just hurry up, would you? We don't have all morning."

"Oh, _thank_ you!" Pansy enthused, snatching her bag up from the ground and bouncing after me.

As I had expected, she went over every centimeter of the fight in minute detail. I supposed I had been putting off the inevitable by trying to avoid her. As her best friend, she seemed to think my sole purpose was to hang off of every word she said.

I didn't see Potter, or his lackeys, at the Gryffindor table when we entered the Great Hall. This didn't worry me. There was always the possibility that he had come to breakfast before me.

We found Blaise in the middle of pouring ketchup on his eggs.

"At last, the victorious heroine has arrived!" he declared, eying Pansy mirthfully. "I was wondering when we would see your shining face. Quick, everyone put down your silverware! Pansy's here!"

"Oh shove off," Pansy snapped. "You're just jealous."

"Of what? Having pythons for shoes? I don't think so. I rather like my feet attached, if you don't mind."

I ignored them and sat down next to Blaise, staring intently at the door in case Potter suddenly walked in.

"So Pansy, after all the commotion this weekend, I certainly hope you were able to finish that essay for Potions?" Blaise said smoothly.

Pansy choked. "We had a Potions essay?"

"Blaise, I think you've exercised enough cruelty for one morning," I admonished. "I'm not sure about you, but I'd rather not have to explain to a professor why there's a dead Pansy sprawled across the walkway. It puts one off one's breakfast."

"I suppose you're right," said Blaise, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Should I have waited until we got to class, then?"

"Urgh, you two are absolutely horrid!" Pansy cried.

"But Blaise is the more horrid of us, I should think," I said. "After all, he's the one who neglected to tell you the essay isn't actually due until Thursday."

Pansy groaned and fell onto the table with a thud.

"Love you too, Pans." Blaise grinned.

As luck would have it, we walked almost directly into Theodore Nott as we were trying to leave the Hall.

He glared at Pansy as if she had murdered his first born. She glared back.

"Idiotic, filthy, lying, shite-for-brains git," she said heatedly before either of us could stop her. Nott opened his mouth to respond. Blaise and I briskly grabbed Pansy under each arm and bustled her out the door.

"What was that for?" she growled, struggling against our hold. "He was just about to give me a reason to curse him to kingdom come!"

"That's all very well, Pansy, but can't it wait until you aren't standing directly in front of the professors' table?" Blaise asked.

"Unless you'd _like_ to have detention once a week for the rest of the month," I added. "Because if so, we'll be more than happy to set you down in the direction of the Great Hall and leave you to it."

Pansy huffed, but nevertheless allowed us to drag her into the Charms classroom.

We went directly to our table near the back of the room, and dropped Pansy unceremoniously into her seat. I took my seat next to her, my eyes once more glued on the door. Potter was bound to get here sooner or later, and when he did, I was going to get some answers. If he didn't speak to me, I would just assume that everything was back to normal. If he _did_... well, I wasn't sure _what_ I would do. I was trying not to think about that possibility; it only distressed me more, and I wasn't all that fond of being distressed

To my surprise, Granger and Weasley showed up shortly after Pansy, Blaise, and me – but without Potter in tow. I frowned. Was he sick? Was he horridly embarrassed that he'd been forced to talk to me because of some potion or dare?

It was neither. Professor Flitwick stumbled into the room five minutes later, carrying several large trays balanced precariously on top of each other, and Potter slid in just behind him. He took the empty seat a few rows ahead of me, next to Longbottom and behind Weasley and Granger. As Flitwick began to explain the procedure for today's spell, Potter twisted around. His green eyes scanned the room and came to rest on me.

He smiled slightly and waved.

I wondered if he was on some sort of drug.

Panicking, I glanced around at my friends, but neither Pansy nor Blaise were paying attention to me. Relieved, I sat up straighter in my chair and stared at Flitwick as if I was attending to his every word. Since my eyes were on the professor, I didn't see how Potter reacted to this. I reminded myself forcefully that I didn't care.

For the rest of the class, I was a hopeless mess. We were supposed to be learning a spell to shrink inanimate objects into smaller, more manageable sizes – ideal for packing for a long trip. I was so distracted that it was a miracle I completed the spell without exploding anything. As soon as Flitwick released us, I leaped up and made a run for the door, not caring that Pansy and Blaise were staring after me in confusion.

Potter met me halfway.

"Hullo, Malfoy," he said. There was a slight smirk playing at his lips.

It was mind-boggling! I had no idea how to respond. Finally I mumbled a hardly distinguishable "hi" of my own and fled.

I got to Arithmancy ten minutes early as a result. Sitting down at my normal table, I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths. Malfoys weren't supposed to be speechless. Malfoys always had some witty, clever, sarcastic retort for everything. Now I knew why – it was awfully embarrassing not to.

I didn't have long to ponder. Blaise flew into the room not a moment later.

"You are _so_ lucky Pansy was talking to Josephine Saunderson at the end of Charms, and you are _so _lucky that she dropped Arithmancy two years ago. Speak."

"About what, dear Blaise?" I glanced out the window and said serenely, "The weather's quite lovely today, isn't it?"

"Draco." Blaise crossed his arms and stared down at me, his nostrils flaring. The tapping of his foot on the floor echoed in the empty room around us. I didn't realize I was shrinking back against my seat until I started to fall out of it. "Harry Potter just said hello to you, and you are going to explain why."

I sighed. So much for clever evasion. "He did on Saturday, too."

"He did what? Said hello?"

"Well, yes, that. But then he kept on talking for another ten minutes after."

Blaise's foot froze in mid-tap. "Talking," he repeated blankly. "Like, a conversation. You had a conversation. With Potter."

I nodded. "He asked me about art."

Shaking his head slightly, Blaise sank into the chair next to mine. "Well," he said. "Well."

"Well _what_, Blaise?" I snapped impatiently.

"Are you sure this isn't a dream? If I pinch myself, will I wake up to find that I've fallen asleep in Divination again?"

"I wish," I snorted.

"Damn," said Blaise wistfully. "And this would have made a weird enough vision for Trelawney to let me off the hook, too. You and Potter. I never thought I'd see the day..." He trailed off, and sat up straighter, as if an idea had just hit him. "So why he's doing it?" he asked, his tone strangely casual.

"Not a clue," I replied.

Blaise's forehead wrinkled. "You mean, he didn't say anything?"

"Nothing about why he's taken a sudden interest in conversing with me."

Blaise's shoulder slumped again, and he sat back in his chair. "Hmm. I would have thought... But I suppose, if he hasn't even realized... Maybe he's working up to it..."

"Blaise, if you aren't going to say anything of consequence, would you mind shutting up?"

He ignored me. "Or maybe he isn't going to say anything. Maybe he's just gone daft or something."

"That's what _I_ thought!" I cried, pointing a finger at him triumphantly. Suddenly Blaise remembered that I was sitting next to him. He made a soothing noise and forcibly lowered my arm.

"Calm down, Draco. I know this must be difficult for you. Just remember: you're a Malfoy. Don't let the rest of the school see that you're losing it too."

"Oh, Blaise, that was hysterical! I'm in stitches!" I drawled sarcastically. "Seriously, now."

"I _am_ being serious," he retorted. "Either Potter's daft, or he isn't. Either way, you aren't the one whose sanity is being questioned at the moment, so you'd be best off not giving people a reason to question it." I opened my mouth, but he waved a hand at me, indicating that I should stay silent. "The only thing you can do right now, really, is to figure out what Potter's up to. So what's the most effective way for you to figure that out? Is there anyone you could ask, for example?"

I glowered. What did he mean, anyone I could ask? Who was I supposed to–?

Oh. Great.

"Granger," I said flatly. "She's the most sensible of the three, and she'll probably know what's wrong with him."

"It's worth a try," Blaise agreed. "She might not say anything to you, but at least then she'll know that Potter's acting balmy. Maybe she'll be able to reel him in a bit."

* * *

It took me two days to work up the nerve to talk to Granger. In those two days, Potter greeted me every time he saw me.

The speed with which the incidences added up was surprising to me. I hadn't realized that Potter and I saw each other so frequently, or that we shared so many classes. Suddenly it seemed that he was everywhere I went, jumping out of the shadows in a modest, Potter-like way to scare the crap out of me.

It was this that made me finally give in. Potter had just stepped out from behind the door to the Great Hall to say hello.

I held my chin up, nodded at him in an aloof, Malfoy fashion, and tried to run away without looking like I was running.

Blaise was sitting at the Slytherin table, trying to eat his lunch and examine the room at the same time. He took a small sip of pumpkin juice and set his goblet down on the edge of the table. I reached out and moved it just before it fell into his lap.

"Have you seen Pansy?" he asked without looking at me.

For the first time, I saw that she wasn't there. "No."

"Because I haven't seen her at all since lunch began, and I can't seem to find Nott either, and I'm starting to get a bit concerned..." He craned his neck around me to look towards the door.

He was right. Pansy's absence was worrisome. But I couldn't seem to focus on it for long; I was too preoccupied with my imminent chat with Potter's bushy-haired companion. While Blaise kept a lookout for either our best friend, I watched Granger like a hawk, waiting for the opportune moment.

It didn't come until the end of lunch. Finally, when I was beginning to think I would never get my chance, Granger stood up. She said something to Potter and Weasley, laughed, and walked away from the Gryffindor table.

In an instant, I was up and weaving cautiously through the crowd of students who were intent – as she most likely was – on heading to class.

I waited until we were near enough to the door, and far enough into the crowd of people, that Potter wouldn't see us.

"Oi, Granger!"

She swung around, her mouth open as if to respond. It snapped shut again when she saw me. Her eyes narrowed.

"Yes?" she said coolly. From her tone, I inferred that what I had to say had better be important, or I would probably be spending the next three days in the hospital wing with broken kneecaps.

I cut to the chase. "Is Potter entirely well?" I asked.

She studied me as if I had grown a second head. "I beg your pardon?"

"I mean, did he somehow acquire severe brain damage over the summer or something?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Granger replied slowly. She was still staring at me as if I were the one whose mental stability was in question. "Why do you ask?"

"He's started talking to me."

Suddenly Granger's eyes widened in understanding. "Ah. I see." She bit her lower lip and frowned at the floor. "Hmm. That's interesting."

I tapped my foot impatiently, waiting for an answer. To my indignation, she turned and began to walk away.

I squeaked in protest.

"Granger, wait! You know what's wrong with him, don't you? Care to enlighten me?"

"Actually, I really ought to head to Defense Against the Dark Arts," she said jauntily. "You probably should as well. We only have ten minutes until it starts, you know."

She left the Great Hall with an amused flounce in her step. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to rip my hair out from the roots. After all, I didn't imagine I would look very attractive without my hair.

* * *

Upon reaching the Defense classroom, I discovered where Pansy had been all through lunch. It was as Blaise had feared. When she got to class, she practically floated into the room and into her seat next to me and Blaise. Clearly she was very pleased with herself.

"His ears are covered in giant purple boils," she announced proudly. "I'm not sure how I did it, but hopefully that means it'll take Pomfrey twice as long to get rid of them."

"Pansy!" Blaise and I moaned simultaneously. "Why?"

"The git was walking around with that Ravenclaw bint again!" she protested. "And as soon as he knew I was nearby, he told her that she was ten times prettier than me! As loudly as he could! It's a complete lie, of course – but I couldn't just let him get away with it, could I?"

I wondered idly how on earth I'd put up with her for so long. Then my attention waned to the point of nonexistence: Potter had just entered the classroom, Weasley at his heels.

He didn't speak to me. In fact, he didn't even look at me.

For some unfathomable reason, I felt rather ruffled. Maybe he didn't want Weasley to know. I searched my memory, but I couldn't remember the Weasel ever being present to see Potter speak to me. He was probably afraid of how said Weasel would react, which wasn't at all surprising; Weasley wasn't exactly fond of me. But then, Potter wasn't supposed to be fond of me either, and yet for some reason he was trying to talk to me at every chance he got.

I was extremely inattentive throughout the day's lesson. Try as I might, I couldn't keep myself from watching Potter for any sort of recognition. What if Granger had actually confronted him, like Blaise had thought she might? What if he was going to start ignoring me again, just like normal? When the new Defense professor – a short, black-haired witch called Boyens – finally let us go, I could have jumped for joy.

At that moment, however, Pansy jumped out of her seat, waving her hands about her frantically. "Wait, wait, wait! I've just thought of something! Do you think the git will try to hunt me down when he gets out of the hospital wing? To get back at me for the boils?"

"Well, it _is_ a possibility," admitted Blaise.

Pansy squeaked loudly. Before either of us could say another word, she sprinted out of the room.

Blaise shook his head and stretched. "So, where do you reckon she'll hide this time?" he asked.

"I'm not sure I want to know," I replied.

"Wotcher, Malfoy," said Potter from my left.

I started to answer out of instinct. When I realized who I was talking to, I started violently, wheeled around, and began to splutter incoherently. So much for the famed Malfoy dignity.

A slight grin on Potter's face was the only indication that he saw how flustered I was. "So how are you?" he asked.

"Um... uh... fine. I'm fine."

Blaise looked back and forth between the two of us and surreptitiously sneaked after Pansy. I made a mental note to corner him later and demand that he explain himself.

"Good." Potter sounded nervous. He ran a hand through his hair swiftly. I noticed that his friends were missing from his side – probably gone ahead to their next class. "So, um... how's the study of color coming along?"

I blinked. "Pardon?"

"Y'know..." Potter gestured with his hands, as if trying to come up with the right terms to describe what he meant. "That book you were reading. Th– you were researching for painting."

"Oh!" I exclaimed. "Yeah. That. I finished it yesterday. Too much time on my hands, I guess."

"Oh. Was it any good?"

"Yeah." I nodded. "Educational. A good distraction from the chaos of my common room."

Potter's brow furrowed. "Chaos?"

Wonderful. I'd gone and said more than I wanted to again. I was sensing a theme in our conversations. "Yeah. Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott. They have a... an ongoing spat."

"And it's bad enough to bother your whole house?" Potter asked, his tone incredulous.

"Oh yes," I said vehemently.

That made him laugh. "So, have you actually started to paint yet?"

"No, not yet. I don't have _that _much time on my hands."

We stood there awkwardly. Somehow, when we weren't watching, Professor Boyens had left the room, along with the rest of the class. Now it was only us. Potter messed with his hair again. I fiddled with the hem of my shirt.

"Well, um, I guess I ought to leave," I said. "I have a free period next, so I should head back to my common room to get some homework done."

"Oh, me too," he said quickly. "I mean, I have a free period as well. Next."

"Oh."

Another awkward silence. Picking up my school bag, I slung the strap over my shoulder. "So, um... guess I'll see you 'round, then."

Potter nodded. "Yeah. See you 'round."

He left the room first, and I waited until he was gone to do the same. I felt distinctly mortified. It seemed that whenever Potter spoke, I was doomed to become a babbling idiot. What in the name of Merlin had possessed me to tell him that I had a free period next? What had I been _thinking_?

If I wasn't mistaken, I hadn't been thinking at all. And that was very, very strange.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Well, I had planned to post this tomorrow, but since you darling readers have been _so _lovely in your reviewing (and because I've managed to come by some free time), I've decided to post it a day earlier than planned. See? Reviews really do help! _

_So, same drill as last time: if you spot any mistakes, grammatical or otherwise, please be sure to let me know. But please leave a review anyway, because they make me ridiculously happy. Seriously. I jump up and down, grin like a maniac, hum show tunes and old Beatles songs for no apparent reason - the works. For the sake of the amusement of my friends and family, I highly suggest you press that little purple button._

_Disclaimer: As much as I adore the boys I'm writing about, they still aren't mine._

* * *

CHAPTER TWO

Pansy spent the next several days trying to keep out of Nott's sight. She was remarkably successful; on occasion, even Blaise and I weren't sure where to find her. Admittedly, neither of us tried very hard. As long as she wasn't trying to pick a fight with Nott, we couldn't have cared less.

Potter and I hadn't had another actual conversation since Wednesday afternoon. The only interaction between us was the occasional "hello" in the hallways, or before or after class. The clumsiness of our last exchange had left me feeling once again embarrassed, which was a feeling I wasn't at all accustomed to. I became almost afraid of him – or at least, of running into him; I didn't really fancy my new habit of saying more than I meant to.

As a result, I refused to leave the confines of the Slytherin dungeons unless I had to go to class. Wednesday night I reread almost all of _Common Theories on the Use of Color,_ and was very pleased to discover that it made even more sense the third time through. Thursday night I made an attempt at painting with some oil paints I borrowed off a boy in the dorm next to mine. Not much came of that except for a very nice, late night fire.

Friday night, in a desperate search for something to do, I even resorted to playing a game of gobstones with a short fourth year boy named something-or-other Smedley, who was supposed to be really good at the game. I thought the game was desperately tedious, and refused to play unless I was about to die from boredom.

Smedley lost. I had a feeling that he did so on purpose, though. Slytherins were so used to being scared of me that it was hard for them to shake the habit. I had been known to be a sore loser in the past – whining, threatening, black-mailing if necessary. It wasn't something that I was particularly proud of. But the fact that I could still incite fear in other Slytherins was an enjoyable ego boost, so I decided not to say anything to him.

But even though I was avoiding Potter, I couldn't seem to help watching him. I was looking for a sign, I told myself. Any sign of his future intentions towards conversing with me. And I was being sneaky about it, so it wasn't like he would notice or anything.

I took up the habit during any time we were in close proximity: at meals, in class, in the hallways. Not that I could discern anything from his facial expressions, though. All I learned was that he laughed a good deal more than I had originally believed. And that he looked vaguely agreeable when he was laughing.

And that Blaise got very annoyed at me when I missed the question he was asking me three times in a row.

"Draco, for the last bloody time!" he groaned at dinner on Saturday. "I don't know why you're so distracted, but I'm trying to talk to you here!"

"Oh. Sorry." I turned my head towards him in an effort to be more attentive.

"Thank you. Now, have you seen Pansy at all lately?"

I glanced up and down the Slytherin table. "Nope. Why?"

The noise level was so high that he had to shout to be heard. "She skived Divination, and she asked me to copy down the notes for her, but now I can't find her anywhere."

"Ah. Sorry. Haven't seen her either."

"Shit."

Blaise left in search of Pansy, and soon after that, Potter and his friends left as well. Seeing no reason for me to sit in the Great Hall alone, since I'd finished eating almost half an hour ago, I got up and departed as well.

The hallways were full of students leaving dinner and making their way back to their common rooms. I lingered among the crowds, walking as slowly as possible, thinking. I wasn't sure what to do with myself. I'd spent so much time in the common room lately that the thought of going back there now was almost nauseating.

After several minutes of deliberation, I decided that I was going to have to chance it. I'd wanted to go to the library all week, to see if they carried any books on magical painting theory. If I could find one, it might just be interesting enough to enable me to stomach another boring night in the dungeon. And anyway, it _was_ highly unlikely that Potter would be there. Who else spent their Saturday night in the library, of all places?

Armed with a newfound determination, I set off in the direction of the library. My trip was cut short, however, when a hand reached out of an empty classroom and yanked me inside.

"Merlin's beard, Pansy!" I cried out angrily. She threw a hand over my mouth to silence me; a group of students was walking by outside. As soon as they had passed, she released me.

"Pansy, what do you want?"

"What?" she said flippantly. "Draco, I haven't spoken with you in days! Aren't I allowed to want to spend time with my best friend in the whole, wide world?"

I crossed my arms and stared at her pointedly.

"Okay, okay," she relented. "I just wanted to know if that git Nott had left the Hall yet. Are you happy now?"

"Yes, I am. And yes, he has. About ten minutes ago, in fact."

Pansy threw her arms around me. "Oh, thank God! I'm starving!"

"Then you should go and eat now, while you can," I advised. "You've only five minutes left till they start clearing the food away."

"Oh, bollocks!" Pansy gasped, her eyes widening. "I'll see you later, then!"

"And make sure you go see Blaise! He has Divination notes for you!" I called as an afterthought.

"Thanks!"

She raced from the classroom, and, shaking my head at the folly of Pansy, I resumed my journey.

Nothing happened to give me cause for concern. There was hardly anyone in the halls. Filch was nowhere to be found. The portrait of Alexander the Abominable tried to trick me into thinking that my shoelaces were untied. I won that round; my shoes didn't have laces. By the time I left him, I wasn't worried about anything except finding the book I wanted.

Then I walked straight into Potter.

"Oh, blast, I'm sorry," I began. My eyes had been on my feet, so I didn't realize who I'd bumped into until I glanced up. When I did, I was greeted by a pair of humorous green eyes shielded by a round pair of spectacles. "Oh. Hullo."

"Hi," he replied, his voice wavering; he was holding back laughter. "Do you usually walk around without paying attention to where you're going?"

"Ha ha," I drawled. "Of course, _you_ never walk around with your head in the clouds, do you? I mean, every other day or so isn't that often. Naturally, that makes it perfectly acceptable for you to tease _me_."

Potter laughed and held up his hands in surrender. "Okay. Wow. You win. I'll change the subject. Where are you going?"

"Library. You?"

"Same." He smiled. "Hermione is obsessed with this new theory on invisibility, and she's making me and Ron help her research. I swear, almost every minute of our spare time, she has us running off to the library. It's exhausting! And she's not even interested in testing out the spells! She says she's only interested in the theory of it."

I raised my eyebrows. From what I knew of Granger, that sounded just like her. "You could refuse to help her, if you wanted. It wouldn't kill you."

"I know. But it's Hermione. I'd feel guilty about it." Potter shrugged. "And I guess I don't mind that much. It _is _an interesting subject."

"You are so selfless," I stated, my voice slightly awed.

He shrugged again. "Maybe. So why are you going to the library? I get the feeling _you_ aren't helping a friend with research."

"No. I'm looking for more books on art techniques. I'm hoping to find something on the use of magic in artwork."

"Really? You can use magic in art?" Potter sounded much more fascinated than I had imagined he would.

"Well, yes, I suppose. I know there are spells you can use on a paintbrush to make it move in ways a human wrist couldn't. Impossible angles and such. It changes the look of the brush stroke, I guess. I really don't know much about it, actually; that's why I'm going to the library."

"Makes sense. Care to walk with me?" He gestured in the direction of the library.

"Sure."

We walked down the hallway without saying anything. Again. I was really starting to despise silence by this point.

So, to my horror, I broke it.

"You know, you have an unfair advantage over me at present," I said. "You know at least something about my interests. I, on the other hand, know nothing about yours."

Potter gave me an amused, sidelong look. "You mean, like what I do outside of class?"

"Sure," I conceded. "What _do_ you do outside of class?"

That seemed to throw him. His brow furrowed, and he ran a hand through his hair, rumpling it. I was beginning to notice a pattern. "Um, I don't know," he said slowly. "Read. Play Quidditch. Not much, I guess. Nothing really interesting. I'm not a closet artist or anything."

I glared at him. "Asking you a question about yourself is not an invitation for you to mock me. Answer the question."

"Sorry," he said solemnly, inclining his head ever so slightly in my direction. "Like I said, I've been helping Hermione with her research. Ron and I have been playing gobstones a lot. Um... damn it all, I feel pathetic!"

"Well, that's not very helpful," I said scornfully. "What on earth do you plan to do with your life? I mean, if you could do anything, what would you want to do?"

The second the words were out, I wanted to take them back. In what universe did Draco Malfoy ask Harry Potter about his deepest desires? I felt almost like I was watching the scene from afar, but someone else was playing the part of me and all I could do was look on in horror as they did a right awful job of it.

Potter was just as bewildered as I was. He stared at me, blinking rapidly, his head cocked to one side.

"Anything?" he repeated. "I have no idea. Uh, I guess what I want most is to be an Auror. I... this sounds ridiculous, I know, but I'd like to help people."

A bizarre sensation in my chest made me think that I was reacting to the sentimentality of his statement. Ignoring it, I smirked and said tauntingly, "Why am I not surprised?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Potter said, rolling his eyes. "Hermione calls it my 'hero-complex.' But I can't really help it. It's just who I am, I guess. I don't even realize when I'm doing it; usually Hermione or Ron has to point it out to me."

I thought about this. When we were younger, I had always believed that Potter was an attention-seeking prat, and that his way of always managing to do good for the wizarding community was really a clever ploy to get media attention. To hear him speak about it as an odd personality quirk that he had no control over was disorienting. Even though I'd subconsciously stopped thinking of him as attention-seeking a long time ago, I'd never thought of it in the way he'd just described.

While I was pondering, we arrived at the library. Potter held the door open for me, seemingly without even thinking about it; I thanked him quietly.

"So," he whispered. "Have I satisfied your curiosity yet, Malfoy?"

He was teasing me, I realized, as I recalled that I had said those exact same words near the end of our first conversation. Unsure of how to respond, I merely shrugged.

"Oi, Harry! Over here!"

We both swung around. Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas were sitting not three meters away. Finnegan was the one who'd spoken; his mouth was still half open, and he was regarding us with a suspicious eye. His companion was unabashedly staring at us as if we were insane. I glanced at Potter in time to see him grimace.

"Sorry," I muttered.

"It's alright – it isn't your fault. I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Yeah," I nodded. He took a deep breath and strode over to meet them.

Afraid to linger and have them think I was watching, I quickly went in search of a book. I found the one I was looking for within a few minutes, and decided to take it back to the common room with me rather than stay where I was. As I was leaving, I passed by Thomas and Finnegan's table again. They were hunched over a large volume in the center of it; Potter was nowhere in sight. I assumed that he'd gone off to find Weasley and Granger. Hopefully none of the Gryffindors had given him too much trouble. Maybe I'd ask him about it tomorrow.

Wait. I repeated that thought carefully in my head and groaned inwardly. Since when did I make plans to talk to _Harry Potter_? And for that matter, since when did I look forward to it?

Considerably dazed, and refusing to think about why, I rushed from the library.

* * *

First I searched my school bag. It wasn't there. Then I searched inside my trunk, under my bed, on the floor around my bed, and all over the floor of the rest of the room. It wasn't there either.

"Blaise, have you seen my best quill?" I inquired from the ground, where I was currently searching on my hands and knees. Blaise was lounging on his bed, reading the latest issue of some Quidditch magazine he liked. Somehow he had failed to notice my noisy examination of our room

"Oh, yeah, sorry," he said absentmindedly. "It's on my bedside table."

I froze. "And why, pray tell, is it there?"

"I needed to finish some homework the other night, and I couldn't find mine," he explained.

"Hello, darlings. How are things in here?"

I started at the sound of Pansy's voice, and hit my head on the underside of my own bedside table.

"Pansy, _what_ are you doing here?" Blaise asked.

"Well, _that's_ no greeting for your best friend," she whined. "And here I thought you'd be interested to know that Marielle Carter got into a fight with her best friend and got her shirt hexed off in the common room."

"She did?" Blaise sat bolt upright, eyes wide.

"No. I just need your help with your Divination notes."

Sighing, Blaise sat back, picked up the magazine he had dropped, and lost all interest in the outside world once more. "Oh. If that's all, then."

"I figured I'd better come up here while I could." Pansy waltzed over to my bed and settled herself among my pillows. "I saw Nott leave the Great Hall just before I did, and I followed him to make sure he wasn't coming back here, but he was headed in the direction of the library. Knowing him, I've got at least forty-five minutes. Do you mind?" she asked Blaise as she pulled a small bottle of turquoise nail polish out of her pocket. "I'll still listen. It's just, I've been meaning to paint them all week, and I haven't had the time"

Blaise shrugged.

"Oh good!" she said happily. "Now, to start, I had no idea what you meant in the second paragraph on page three. If you wouldn't mind...?"

Pansy placed the notes in the open hand that was Blaise's response to her unfinished question. He began to review them. After watching for a moment, she uncapped the nail polish bottle.

"So, what are you up to, Drake?" she asked.

"Careful of the duvet," I ordered in response. "I'm writing a letter to Greg."

"Do be sure to tell him I say hello." She finished her big toenail, appraised it thoughtfully, and moved on. "By the way, you wouldn't happen to have seen my copy of Witch Weekly, would you?"

"It might be under my bed, if you looked on the left hand side," I replied. I had taken it last week to tear out the coupons for my favorite shampoo.

"Thank you."

"Ah!" Blaise said. "I've got it! I was trying to say that–"

Smiling to myself, I tuned them out and tried to write my letter. I couldn't figure out what to say. Nothing had happened lately that was worth relaying to Greg. He and I had never talked much anyway. Finally I settled on describing what we were doing in some of the classes he used to take.

Pansy finished her nails, and blew lightly on them while Blaise explained what she'd missed in Divination. I was almost done with my letter when I caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall.

"You might want to leave soon, Pansy," I said. "Not to rain on your parade or anything, but it's been almost an hour."

"Shit!" Pansy shrieked. She shoved the nail polish bottle into her pocket again, snatched Blaise's notes out of his hand, and raced from the room.

"You're welcome," Blaise said, getting up to close the door after her. "You think she'd keep track of time, if she didn't want to see the stupid blighter."

"Maybe she actually does," I suggested. I was staring at my letter, trying to think of a good conclusion. "Maybe she's looking for another excuse for a fight."

"I wouldn't put it past her," Blaise agreed. He sat down and began to read again. "Now that Pansy's gone, I've been meaning to ask you: did you ever talk to Granger?"

"I did."

"And? Did she say anything enlightening?"

"Not really," I admitted. "All she said was 'hmm' and 'interesting' and 'no, I don't think I _will_ bother to explain myself, because I'd rather go to class and leave you in misery.'"

"Really?" Blaise bit his lip and scowled at the magazine, deep in thought.

"Yes, and if you happen to have the same revelation she had, would you mind keeping it to yourself?" I asked hotly. "I'm getting a little bit annoyed with you people refusing to share."

"Right," said Blaise.

"_Right_ as in you won't have a revelation, or _right_ as in you have had one and you won't share it?"

"Right."

I stared at him. "I hate you, you know. And I'm trying to finish my letter now, and I'm not paying you the slightest bit of attention whatsoever."

"Right."

After a few more minutes, I came up with a suitable end. Setting down my quill, I stretched to get rid of the kinks in my back. Then I recalled Pansy's request, and added her message as a post-script.

"I'm off to the Owlery," I announced. "Anything that needs sending?"

"Only my love letter to Marielle. Do you think she'd prefer red roses, or pink?"

Rolling my eyes, I folded up my letter and left the room.

The hallways were empty. I made my way up to the Owlery at a leisurely pace, because I didn't exactly have anything better to do. My owl, Orpheus, was asleep. He nipped at me when I woke him up, but after several owl treats – and with the prospect of a journey ahead of him – he lightened up considerably. I was just tying the letter to his leg when the door to the Owlery opened, and a messy, black head of hair walked in.

"Good morning," I said, since he hadn't seemed to notice I was there.

Potter started, but when he looked up at me, he smiled. "Good morning, Malfoy. I didn't expect to see anyone here."

"Nor did I."

He went over to one of the school owls, a large Tawny. She was already awake, and refused to let him attach his parchment to her leg until she had been properly fed.

"So, you sending a letter too?" he asked, and then cringed. I assumed it was at his poor attempt to start a conversation. For some reason, I didn't mind.

"Yeah." I replied. "Greg Goyle. He chose not to repeat this year, so I write to him every now and then. To tell him what's happening, see how he's doing."

"I was wondering about him. Do you know what he's doing now?"

"He mentioned some sort of job in his last letter. I'm not sure what, though; he didn't say."

"Interesting."

Potter sent his owl off and gestured that I should follow him outside. Since I wasn't all keen on standing amongst the owl droppings while we talked, I did.

"So, what about you?" I asked as we walked down the narrow stairs to the rest of the castle.

"I was sending a letter to my godson, Teddy," he explained over his shoulder

"You have a godson?"

He chuckled. "Yeah. I know it sounds kind of off, me being only eighteen and all. But Remus asked me, and I couldn't say no. Teddy is Remus Lupin's son," he added as an afterthought.

"Remus Lupin, our old Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?" I asked for clarification. Potter nodded. "Didn't he marry my cousin?"

"Nymphadora Tonks, yeah. Teddy's a Metamorphmagus, just like her. He's living with Tonks's mum, and she's been sending me pictures every few weeks. His hair's a different color in each one."

I frowned, trying to remember what I knew about Metamorphmagi. "Wouldn't he be very young, then?"

Potter looked somewhat sheepish. He rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. "Well, yeah, he is. It's more like I send the letters to Andromeda, and she puts them in a box to save for when he learns to read. I just... I want to be involved in his life, you know? I reckon, even if he can't read the letters now, he'll have them when he's older, and hopefully he'll like them. I would, if I were him. I was always pretty alone as a kid."

That struck me as odd. I had always imagined that Harry Potter would be fawned over wherever he went. But then, I supposed I _had_ heard nasty rumors about those Muggles who had taken him in.

"Has he changed any other features yet?" I asked. "I've heard they can change things like nose or eyebrow shape in the first year."

"They can?" Potter eyes widened. I nodded slowly. "So _that's_ why his nose was different in the last set!"

I stared at him incredulously.

"Well, the change was pretty small," he said defensively. "I almost thought I imagined it, but then I asked Ron, and he reckoned he saw it too. Neither of us knows much about Metamorphmagi."

"Obviously not," I teased.

His eyes sparkled with laughter, but he ignored my jest. "Anything else I should know?"

"I'm not sure. I don't actually know much about them, myself. If I think of anything, I'll be sure to let you know."

"Cool."

We were approaching the staircase where we would have to go our separate ways. I saw my chance to ask the question that had been bothering me all morning, and jumped at it.

"So, um, about last night... Finnegan and Thomas didn't bother you, did they?"

"Not really" said Potter. "I did have to tell them at least twelve times that we were friends, but I think they finally got the message."

I stopped in my tracks. "Are we?" I asked, with a bit more intensity than the question probably warranted. "Friends, I mean?"

"Well, I had thought so," Potter replied. He looked confused and slightly alarmed, as if he thought he'd been wrong.

"Okay." I spoke casually, strictly to make him feel better, and not at all because the idea of a friendship between us made me feel strangely giddy.

Potter froze, blinking at me from behind his glasses, as he tried to translate my meaning. And then he smiled at me, the most genuine smile I'd ever seen. "Good."

* * *

"Draco? Hey, are you alive in there?"

I spared Blaise a momentary glance. It was lunchtime, but I'd hardly eaten a thing. I was too busy watching Potter on the opposite side of the Great Hall. He hadn't spoken to me all morning. Truthfully, he hadn't had much opportunity; he'd only seen me in passing. Still, it made me inexplicably anxious. Our exchange the previous day felt like a dream, and I couldn't shake the fear that once we returned to the real world, everything would go back to normal.

Although why that bothered me so much, I wasn't quite sure.

"Yes, of course I'm alive," I said snappishly.

Blaise cringed. "Just checking." He looked around the room. "Pansy's still not here. When do you reckon she'll start coming to meals again?"

"No clue."

I was craning my neck, trying to catch a glimpse of Potter. He was whispering something to Granger, who frowned and shook her head before turning to whisper something back. As she spoke, though, his eyes wandered. He spotted me almost instantly. A somewhat cheeky grin spread across his face, and he nodded to acknowledge that he'd seen me.

I almost choked. Suddenly I was convinced that he would think I was staring at him. I wasn't, of course, but what if it had looked like I was? I nodded as well, ever so slightly, because to look away immediately (as I desperately wanted to do) seemed a bit incriminating.

We observed each other for a moment more, and then Granger poked Potter almost viciously in the shoulder and he was forced to attend once more. I looked at the empty plate in front of me, feeling ridiculous. Why on earth was I worried that Potter would think I was staring at him?

Blaise interrupted my panicked thoughts again. "Drake?" he said softly. "It's time for class."

I stood up to follow him, and then froze. "Damn it!" I groaned. "I left my potions book in our room!"

"But there's only five minutes till class starts," Blaise pointed out anxiously.

I shook my head. "I'll run. Meet you in class."

True to my word, I sprinted out of the room and down to the Slytherin common room at breakneck speed. My book was lying open on my bed, right where I had left it; I shoved it into my school bag and took off for the Potions classroom.

I was still late. Four minutes after the start of class, I bust into the room, interrupting Professor Slughorn and drawing every pair of eyes to myself.

"Late, Mr. Malfoy?" said Slughorn irritably. He took every tardy as a personal offense.

"Sorry, sir," I said. Trying to explain myself would just take of more of his time, and leave him more annoyed with me.

"Very well. Five points from Slytherin. Take a seat, please."

I slunk to the only open desk, which was at the back of the room. Since Blaise had gotten there early, he was closer to the front, sitting next to Winston Hayes. He shot me an apologetic look; I glared at him insincerely in return.

Once I was in my seat, I glanced around the room. Pansy wasn't there, a fact which caused me some concern. Hopefully she hadn't done anything too stupid.

I had just figured out that Potter wasn't there either when he burst into the room in much the same fashion as I had. Had it been anyone else, Slughorn would be been seriously aggravated. As it was Potter, he kept his manner calm; everyone knew that Slughorn would let The Boy Who Defeated Voldemort get away with almost anything.

"Mr. Potter, now?" he said lightly. "Tell me: you and Mr. Malfoy wouldn't be together in tardiness because you were together physically as well, would you?"

Tittering laughter filled the classroom, but Slughorn was oblivious to its cause. Potter's eyes widened and he flushed slightly. "No, sir," he said firmly. I wanted to sink into the ground and stay there.

Slughorn studied him closely, and then sighed. "Five points from Gryffindor as well, I suppose. And you'd better sit down."

Potter looked around the room for an empty space, but he knew (as well as I and the rest of the class) that the only one was in the back. Next to me. The atmosphere in the room was almost tangible as he walked down the aisle and slid into the chair next to mine. Every head turned to watch him, even though Slughorn had already started talking again.

"Hi," Potter whispered.

"Hi," I whispered back. All of a sudden, I found the situation highly comical. The whole room was expecting us to hex each other into little pieces, and there we were exchanging pleasantries! I bit back laughter just in time.

Slughorn explained the potion we were going to try to make today, a potion to cure insomnia – difficult, he claimed, because one mistake by the potion maker could put the drinker into an eternal sleep, or even kill them. As soon as he finished writing our instructions on the board, Potter went to get our ingredients and I set up the cauldron. I was intrigued by the fact that we didn't have to discuss who anything beforehand. Normally Blaise and I would bicker over who got to do what.

When Potter returned, I threw the appropriate items in the cauldron and ordered him to stir while I cut up the coral root. To my surprise, he complied. We worked in silence for a few minutes, until he broke it.

"I talked to Ron last night," he said quietly.

"Well, good for you," I replied dryly.

"No, I mean–" he sighed. "I told him that you and I were friends."

I dropped the knife that I had been using, and it hit the floor with a clatter.

"Oh," I said, leaning down to retrieve it. I hadn't expected him to say anything like that. "He didn't know?"

"No." Potter shook his head. "I, um... I wasn't sure how well he would react."

"Hmm," was all I could say. I looked up towards where Weasley and Granger were sitting, near the front of the room. Neither of them was looking at us. "And how _did_ he react?"

Potter caught on instantly. "Not _that_ badly. I don't have to avoid him or anything. I just figured it would be best to give him some space."

"He really doesn't like me, does he?" I asked.

"Well, not really," Potter hedged. "But you don't really like him either, do you?"

"I don't," I agreed. "But it is remarkably uncomfortable to realize the extent of someone's dislike for you."

Potter didn't respond. I glanced up to find that he was completely absorbed in staring at me, the potion in the cauldron completely forgotten.

"You might want to stir that," I reminded him cautiously.

He blinked, as if I'd suddenly recalled him back to this world. "Oh, shit! The potion! Sorry!" he cried, and he began to stir with fervor.

The humor of our situation hit me again, full blast. This time I couldn't hold back laughter, and I collapsed onto the desk, my head on my arm.

Potter looked up at me as if he had never seen me before in his life. "What is it?" he asked, sounding frightened. "W-why are you laughing? Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry–"

"No, no," I choked out, trying vainly to fight off hysterics. "No. It's just... we're working together without fighting. And you _know_ the whole class expects us to end up in the hospital wing with critical injuries." I covered my mouth with my hands and took several deep breaths until I could sit up again. Potter watched me with a small smile on his face.

"You're right," he said.

I inhaled deeply once again, and stretched. "I know. Don't forget to stir that."

"I won't."

We finished our potion without any mishaps. Even Slughorn looked surprised when I handed it to him at the end of class, Potter at my shoulder.

"Well done, boys," he said, sounding almost reluctant. When I turned to look at Potter, he was rolling his eyes. We said goodbye, and he went to meet his friends. I left the room feeling inexplicably pleased with myself.

Blaise was waiting for me just outside the door, an amused smirk on his lips.

"You and Potter seem pretty friendly," he commented, falling into step with me.

"Sod off," I replied.

"Pansy never came to class."

"No, she didn't."

"You don't know where she was, do you?"

"Haven't a clue."

"Damn, that's annoying." Blaise peered at me, still grinning impishly. "Do you reckon we could ask Potter if he saw her?"

"I said _sod off_!"


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Sorry, guys! My plan was to post this yesterday, but then a minor crisis arose. I'm still trying to deal with it, but somehow I managed to find some time to post today. As such, pretty please review? It would cheer me up considerably, and I could seriously do with some cheering up right now. Also, please let me know if you spot any mistakes! This _has _been edited by me and my beta, but I usually triple-check for anything we might have missed before I post, and I don't have the energy to do so now. Anyway, errors make me sad, so if you notice any, pleeeease tell me. Thanks!_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot._

* * *

CHAPTER THREE

It hadn't taken long for me to find out why Pansy had skived Potions. In fact, I would have been hard pressed _not_ to find out. I had the tale from Blaise, who had had it from Winston Hayes, who had happened to catch the tail end of it before being bustled off to class – and promptly told it to everyone he met for the rest of the day.

Pansy had had another run in with Nott.

As she told us later, she had been on her way to lunch, having believed him to have already eaten. The problem was he was walking in the same direction as she was, having believed the same thing of her. Sadly, neither of them ever made it to the Great Hall. They walked right into each other just outside the door.

Insults flew. Then hexes. Soon it progressed into a full-fledged brawl, with fists, feet and school books. Unbeknownst to them, however, Professor McGonagall had been standing less then six meters away the entire time.

Naturally, the Professor had flipped. Pansy and Nott had spent all of lunch in her office, and had left with three detentions and a total of fifty house points lost. As such, the two of them had been too afraid to show their faces to other Slytherins to risk coming to class. Slytherins are, as a rule, too clever to get caught doing anything that could lose them house points. Whenever someone does manage to lose them (especially a large number of them), that someone would be best off making themselves scarce.

True to form, the Slytherins were livid. No one would speak to either Pansy or Nott, even several days later. Pansy's roommates kicked her out. She took over a smallish couch in the corner of the common room, sleeping there at night and ignoring the angry stares of her house-mates during the day.

From day one, she proclaimed to anyone who would listen that she had claimed her corner "in the name of fairness." Nott had been allowed to stay in his room. Since Blaise and I were the only other ones who occupied the room, we had made the executive decision. While it was sure to piss Pansy off, we agreed that it wasn't worth the fight that was certain to occur if we booted him.

In order to atone for our sin, but mostly because no one else would keep her company, Blaise and I spent all of our free time in Pansy's corner of fairness. The whole thing had left her alternately hot and cold. Sometimes she would be upset, whining that it was so unfair, and no one cared about her feelings at all. Other times she would be irate, complaining that the Slytherins were all thick for refusing to see that the fight had been entirely Nott's fault and not hers.

"It really is _his_ fault," she muttered vexedly from behind Witch Weekly. She was sitting on one side of the couch, her back against the armrest and her body curved so that her legs dangled off the edge.

"Yes, of course it is, Pansy," Blaise appeased. He sat on the floor in front of her, his back against the front of the couch. Her legs rested on his shoulders so that she was using him almost like a foot stool.

She hit him on the head with her magazine. "So why can't you explain it to them, then?" she asked for the hundredth time that day.

Blaise exhaled heavily. "Look, Pans, somehow I don't think they're going to be willing to listen to me."

"Fine," Pansy said, her voice clipped. She picked up her magazine again and forcefully shoved her nose into it. "Fine. Whatever you say."

"Pansy, I'm not–" he began, but I tapped him with the toe of my foot and shook my head. I was sitting next to Pansy on the couch, trying to get a start on my Charms essay. It was nearly impossible; the two of them were incapable of shutting up for more than a ten second interval.

Muttering incoherently, Blaise turned his eyes back to his own essay.

"Pans, you ought to feel lucky," he said after nine seconds. I counted. "I've been sitting here with you all evening, when I could have been over there talking to Marielle Carter, finding out what kind of music she likes, getting her to agree to go to Hogsmeade with me in October–"

"No, you couldn't," Pansy retorted. "You would have sat with me anyway, because I'm your best friend, and if you didn't, you would find all your hair turned blue tomorrow morning."

"Of course!" Blaise groaned. "The old 'change of hair-color' ploy! Why didn't I remember that?"

Pansy shrugged. "I can't help it if I'm smarter than you."

"You are not!"

"Yes, she is," I cut in. "When you're acting like this, she is."

"Oh, I suppose you're right. As usual." Blaise sighed and glanced in the direction of the window, where Carter and her cronies occupied a small, round table. "I can't help it, though. She's just so..." His eyes glazed over, and I suspected that we wouldn't ever get to hear the rest of that sentence.

Pansy grinned hugely. "Say, Draco," she said. "I wonder if Blaise here would be interested in hearing what Marielle had to say about him last Saturday night. What do you think? Do you reckon he cares?"

Blaise sat up, his eyes wide, and gaped at her.

"He doesn't care in the slightest," I told her firmly. "I wouldn't tell him a thing, if I were you. You'll only bore him."

"Oh good," Pansy cried, clapping her hands together gleefully. "Now that _that's_ all settled–"

"It is _not_ ruddy well settled! Tell me right now or I'll turn _your _hair blue!"

Winking at me, Pansy settled in to describe the conversation with Marielle in exact detail. I rolled my eyes and put my quill to paper once more.

But I couldn't concentrate. The moment I tried, other images filled my mind unbidden. To my confusion, the most prevalent were of Potter: his smile from the Owlery, or the amused, somewhat proud look on his face at the end of Potions. Suddenly I didn't think I could sit still. But Pansy wouldn't let me leave unless I had a good enough reason...

"Hey, Pans?"

"Hmm?" She looked up. Blaise glared at me for distracting her from her narrative.

"I have to run up to the library. I can't find my copy of that Charms book Flitwick wants us to use. Won't be long."

"Alright, then," she said.

As soon as I was outside of the Slytherin dungeon, I ran for it. Luckily, neither Filch nor Slughorn were around; I made it above ground in record time. Once there, I wasn't sure what to do. I had, of course, lied to Pansy. The book I needed was laying inside my trunk in my dorm. All I had wanted really was an excuse to leave the common room.

_And see Potter_, a snide voice in the back of my mind added. I ignored it. It was absurd, of course, and completely incorrect. I wandered around the ground floor, and eventually in the direction of the front door. A walk outside to watch the sunset would be nice.

I turned the corner and nearly tripped.

Potter was at the opposite end of the hall.

He must have just come in from Quidditch practice; he still wore the gold and red Gryffindor robes. From the look of him, he'd showered before he'd left the locker room. His hair was damp, and more unruly than usual; his skin was tinged slightly pink.

I suddenly found myself unable to move from where I stood. In fact, I wasn't sure if I could even think. I didn't want to try.

Potter looked up and waved when he saw me. "Malfoy! How are you?"

"Fine," I said automatically. I was still struggling for words. I could feel the blush on my cheeks, for whatever reason, and hoped frantically that he didn't notice it. "A bit late for Quidditch, isn't it?"

"Well, the actual practice ended over half an hour ago," he admitted. "But I hung back to draw out some new plans. It helps me think, being there."

I noted the Captain's badge on his robes, and nodded. We began to walk back into the castle, but I didn't protest. The sunset didn't seem so interesting anymore.

"So what are you doing out?" he asked.

That was something I didn't exactly feel like discussing with him. "Running away," I said instead.

He furrowed his brow quizzically.

"Seriously," I continued. "Right now, if I were in my common room, I'd have the glares of the entire house of Slytherin being sent in my direction. It's exhausting. I'll have you know."

"Why glare at you?"

"Because I'm sitting with Pansy," I informed him.

When he frowned at me, I explained the whole story, from fist fight to fairness couch. He laughed more than I'd ever seen him laugh before.

"I don't blame you for wanting a break," he said. "Reminds me of first year, when you ratted me and Hermione out for helping Hagrid get rid of his dragon."

"How so?"

"Well, the rest the Gryffindors ignored us for weeks. It was miserable."

"They did the same for me," I told him. "The Slytherins. Even Pansy wouldn't speak to me. She said it was my own fault for going out of my way to get you into trouble, and I deserved it. And then she stole all of the chocolate from my stash under the bed."

Potter snorted. "But if you hadn't gone out of your way...?"

"Then Pansy would have supported me entirely."

He shook his head amusedly, splattering a few stray water droplets onto the floor. "Why am I not surprised?"

We stopped talking for a moment as the Gryffindor ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, floated past us. He did a fantastic double take, swinging around to get a better look at us and nearly shaking his head off his neck. Potter bit down hard his lower lip; he was holding back laughter.

"Now he'll go repeat what he saw to the rest of the ghosts, and it will somehow find its way back to the professors," he commented as soon as Nick was out of hearing range. "They're talking about us. Had you heard?"

"No." I was startled. "What are they saying?"

"They're making bets," Potter replied with a grin. "Hermione went to Professor Vector for help with Arithmancy, and while she was waiting outside the professors' lounge, she heard them. Professor Flitwick bet two Galleons that I hex you before the end of the week. Professor Slughorn told him that instead of hexing each other, we would be sitting together in every class. He even put five Galleons on it."

I stared at him in amazement. "How would you feel about making sure those professors don't make any money off us?"

"That's exactly what I hoped you'd say," he confessed. "Although that means we can't sit together at meals, of course. Professor Boyens bet seven Sickles that we would."

It took me a moment to realize that he was making a joke. "I would comment on how our professors are way too involved in their students' personal lives, but I don't think I can do it without sounding wrong."

"Then don't even try," Potter said gravely. We both laughed. He ran a hand through his still-damp hair, then made a face and dried it on his robes; he'd forgotten his hair was wet. "I really love this place," he sighed happily. "It feels almost like home."

"Really?" I asked, astonished.

He frowned. "Yeah. Why?"

"Well, it's just that I feel the same way. All summer, coming back here was the only thing I was looking forward too. I mean, once you've had your house occupied by Voldemort and his mindless drones for months on end, it sort of loses that homey feel."

"Oh. Right." He nodded sympathetically, but didn't ask me any more. I appreciated him for it.

"Why is it for you?" I inquired.

He knew what I meant without needing me to clarify. "Well, you probably know that I lived with my aunt and uncle ever since my parents died. They... they weren't exactly the best guardians."

Since he'd brought up the subject, I figured it would be all right for me to ask. "How so?"

Potter looked up at me, and I got the impression that he was gauging me, trying to predict what my reaction to his words would be. Then he said slowly, "Well, for the first ten years of my life, I lived in the cupboard under the stairs."

I choked on thin air. Two years ago, I probably would have laughed at him. Now, I felt like I wanted to hex someone. Preferably with Pansy's purple boils, once I figured out how.

"But luckily I don't ever have to go back," he went on. "I officially left about a year ago, and I've been staying with the Weasleys ever since. The plan is to buy my own place next summer, when school ends."

"Where do you want to live?" I asked, seizing the opportunity for a change of discussion topic. Those Muggles of Potter's were _very_ lucky it was impossible to Apparate within Hogwarts walls.

"In London. Or as close to the wizarding part as I can get, anyway. I lived in Muggle suburbia all my life, so I want to try living like a wizard for a change."

He stopped and took off his glasses wipe them on his robes. Out of curiosity, I leaned forward to watch him. He didn't even seem to notice.

"You really _are_ blind without your glasses, aren't you?"

He flinched at the sound of my voice so close to him. "Yes," he said, replacing them on his bridge of his nose. "Why?"

I ignored him. "So if someone were to take your glasses, you wouldn't be able to see to chase them?"

Potter cocked his head to one side and stared at me in disbelief. I took the chance to snatch his glasses from his face and sprint to the opposite end of the hall.

"Hey! Malfoy? Malfoy, come on, give them back!" he called after me.

"Catch me first! " I shouted back, thoroughly enjoying myself.

Potter fumbled halfway down the corridor, relying only on my voice at the end of it and his hands on the walls, before I finally gave in. I tiptoed so that I was behind him, and reached carefully over his shoulder to hold the glasses directly in front of his chest. He walked right into my hand. Then he grabbed the glasses and jammed them back onto his nose.

"What was that for?" he demanded, whirling around to face me. The hint of a grin on the corners of his lips told me that he wasn't really angry.

"Inner Slytherin," I shrugged. His eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair, and he burst into laughter.

We started to talk about Quidditch, and about the plans he was drawing up for the next match (which he only told me because I wasn't playing for Slytherin anymore), and the Charms essay I was supposed to be writing. When we finally stopped, we were standing in front of a portrait of a large woman in a sheer, pink dress.

I had walked him back to the Gryffindor common room without even noticing it.

"Well, I probably ought to get back now," I announced. The woman in the portrait was inching closer and closer to the edge of her frame, her eyes wide as saucers as she looked at us. I imagined her stepping so far forward that she fell out of the picture entirely.

"Probably," Potter agreed.

I stared at the wall. Potter toyed with his Captain's badge. At length he opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

"Guess I'll see you, then," I said briskly. Before he could reply, I turned on my heel and strode off towards the dungeons. I hadn't a clue what he had been about to say, but I had a feeling I wasn't ready to hear it.

* * *

"Draco, it isn't _fair_!"

Sighing, I ran a hand through my hair in true Potter fashion. Professor Sprout was lecturing us today, about the qualities of plants that bloomed only at night, but that didn't stop Pansy. She ranted at me in a heated whisper, jotting down whatever notes looked important and otherwise acting as if class didn't exist.

Last night, while I'd been away, she had tried to sneak back into her dorm. Delia Withers had met her at the door and refused to admit her. After much argument, they had reached an agreement and she had passed a pile of Pansy's requested magazines through the small opening between the door and the wall. When Pansy asked for her nail polish bag, Delia slammed the door in her face.

Needless to say, Pansy hadn't stopped complaining about it the entire morning. Anyone who would listen was subjected to rants about the tyranny of roommates and the stupidity of dormitories. I, as her best friend, was expected to listen. But I noticed that as long as I nodded and made sympathetic noises at the right moments, she didn't seem to notice if I was paying attention or not. This left me free to take notes whenever I needed, and focus the rest of my efforts on drawing.

After I had returned from Gryffindor tower, inspiration had stuck. I had sketched for two hours straight – by wand light once Blaise and Nott had gone to bed – only to realize once I finished that I had just sketched a smiling Harry Potter. It wasn't even a very good likeness of him, either. Annoyed, I had folded the parchment and shoved it under my mattress for safekeeping. Now Potter was sitting across the room, facing the professor, and my fingers itched for a piece of charcoal.

"Draco, don't you agree?" Pansy whispered in my ear.

"Of course," I said, even though I had no idea what I was agreeing to. Apparently I'd said the right thing. Pansy began to explain exactly why Delia Withers didn't deserve to be a witch, and I began to stare at Potter again.

Finally I gave in. I flipped over one of my sheets of notes, found a pencil in one of the pockets of my school bag, and sketched. My pencil traced the outline of his face, the angle of his jaw, the way the fingers of his free hand tapped lightly on the desktop. I had just finished carefully detailing the way his hair stuck up when I saw him watching me.

Panicking, I held my breath. He was studying the piece of parchment in front of me with a curious expression. Slowly, he pointed at it and then at himself.

Oh drat. He _had _caught on, after all.

Because I had to do something, I nodded. Then I glared and gestured for him to turn around again so I could continue. The corners of his mouth turned up in a smirk, but he did as I wanted. Pansy was jotting down something that could have been Herbology notes (but I had a funny feeling were actually battle plans), so she missed the whole exchange – something I was very glad about. Blaise and I had expended too much effort keeping Pansy in the dark for her to find out now.

Knowing that Potter knew what I was doing made it impossibly difficult to keep drawing. But since I had forced him to turn around, I had to look like I was doing something. I went over lines I had already drawn until Professor Sprout set us free for lunch.

Of course, Potter was waiting for me outside the classroom. To my relief, he seemed to know that saying anything in front of Pansy was not a wise move. He leaned against the greenhouse wall, gave me a purposeful look, and kept his mouth shut.

I walked a little bit farther with Blaise and Pansy before making my excuse.

"Aww," I moaned, stopping in my tracks. "I left my quill at the greenhouse!"

"Shall we walk back and get it?" Pansy asked.

"No, you go on ahead," I told her. "I'll meet you in the Great Hall."

Blaise – ever astute – took one glance over his shoulder, saw Potter, and grabbed Pansy securely by the arm. "Right. We'll see you there," he said, and with considerable decorum for someone dragging someone else, he dragged Pansy towards the castle.

I turned around and headed back to meet Potter.

"So was that really a drawing of me?" he asked as I approached.

"Yes," I conceded. "Pansy was complaining, and I was trying to distract myself. She can go on for hours if you don't stop her."

He laughed. "Can I see it?" he asked.

"It's not done," I said quickly, even though it really was.

Potter thought about that. "Can I see it when it's done?" he amended.

"Maybe," I said. Thankfully, that was enough for Potter – either that, or he knew he wouldn't get me to agree to anything more.

"What was wrong with Pansy?" he wanted to know.

I explained the story as simply as I could.

"Wow," Potter said, shaking his head. "I had no idea that Slytherins were so dramatic."

With a good deal of self-restraint, I ignored the jibe at my house. "Pansy's always been like that. She just causes trouble by nature. Honestly, I think the rest of the house will be ecstatic to get rid of her."

"Oi, Harry?"

We turned. Weasley and Granger were standing nearby. Granger, for whatever reason, was examining us as she might a test subject. Weasley looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"We're, uh, we're going to lunch now," he said. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah, hold on," Potter replied. He faced me, suddenly looking determined. "See you later, Draco," he said.

I was so completely flabbergasted that I couldn't say a word. Weasley was stunned as well; he gaped like a fish out of water. Potter turned around, without waiting for a reply from me, and walked back towards the castle. Granger followed him, but not before giving Weasley a deft kick in the shin.

As the three of them disappeared around the bend, the redhead shot me an indignant look. He clearly wanted to know what I had done to deserve the first name treatment.

I was just as confused as he was. For nearly a full minute, I was unable to move. The only thing my brain could register was that Potter had just said my first name. I was one hundred percent certain that I had never heard him utter my name in the entire seven years that I'd known him.

Then I remembered that I was supposed to meet Pansy and Blaise, and ran after them.

Since lunch had started almost fifteen minutes ago, the Great Hall was full and noisy when I got there. I immediately scanned the crowd. Potter, Granger, and Weasley were already sitting at the Gryffindor table. I watched as Weasley muttered something to Potter, who frowned and whispered something back. Granger put a hand on Weasley's arm, and gave him what looked like a warning glare. I now felt sure that Potter had said my name only to make a point to Weasley. I also felt sure that Weasley was seriously vexed by it.

Feeling oddly depressed, I went to join my own friends at the Slytherin table. Blaise and Pansy were sitting at the very end of it, at least several meters away from everyone else. Blaise looked disgusted. Pansy looked distressed. Everyone else was glaring daggers at them. Nott was nowhere in sight.

At the sight of me, Pansy jumped up, threw her arms around me, and squealed, "Oh, I'm _so_ glad you're here, Draco! At least _you_ won't act like I don't exist!"

"And what am I?" asked Blaise, affronted. "A spare Bubotuber that just happened to follow you in from Herbology?"

"You know that's not what I meant," Pansy said soothingly. "I'm just glad to have another person here to support me, that's all."

I sat down with some effort, considering that Pansy was still attached to my shoulders. "Pansy, I know you love me and all, but might I be permitted to eat my lunch?"

"Oh, fine," Pansy said huffily.

* * *

The next day was Saturday. I couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. On the plus side, I didn't have to go to class. On the other hand, I was being forced against my will to spend all my time on the couch of fairness, and I couldn't seem to stop thinking about Potter.

I spent the day alternately comforting Pansy and making additions to my drawing from Herbology whenever she wasn't looking. My terrible first attempt had been burned the day before, so as to keep it from being used against me by unruly roommates. Unless Pansy was distracted, the new version stayed safely folded inside my pocket at all times.

Since listening to Pansy rarely required paying attention, I had a lot of time to myself to think. In that time, an unpleasant idea lodged itself in my mind. I knew that it was laughable, and I hardly believed it myself, but once the thought was there, it refused to be entirely dismissed. Instead it lingered, making itself known only during lulls in the conversation. Once I lay down to go to sleep for the night, it clambered to be heard.

What if Potter was using me?

After all, wouldn't it be a slap in the face of all the prejudiced wizards in the world for Harry Potter to befriend Draco Malfoy, son of an ex-Death Eater?

I tried to avoid thinking about it – my end-all solution to any problem lately. But really, it was just the sort of thing Potter would be likely to try. Ex-Death Eaters, and their relations, were becoming the dregs of society. It was hard for them to leave the house, let alone get jobs to support themselves. The _Prophet_ reported stories almost daily about some person or other who got spit on in the street because they were related to someone who had been on Voldemort's side during the war.

I hadn't experienced much of the prejudice myself, because I didn't go out in public unless it was absolutely necessary. Inside the Slytherin common room, I was safe; most of them understood what it was like. And Hogwarts itself was relatively neutral about politics this year. But every now and then, someone would glare at me for no reason, or bump into me in the hallway. After it happened a few times, I'd just accepted that it was going to happen and moved on.

But what if Potter, and his noble 'hero-complex,' didn't want that sort of thing to happen at all?

Befriend someone worse off than yourself to make a point to the wizarding world. Trick them into being accepting of others. Help the poor, mistreated ex-Death Eaters. In any other situation, I would have grudgingly appreciated Potter. The problem was that I didn't quite approve of being the one he used for the task.

Unable to stop thinking, I tossed and turned and fretted and hardly slept at all.

"Malfoy?" A hand shook me. "Oi, Malfoy! Wake up already, would you?"

I blinked sleepily and found myself two centimeters from the bright blue eyes of Winston Hayes.

"Holy shit!" I screamed, jumping up and backward. My back of my head collided with the wall, and I rubbed it gingerly. "What's going on?"

"Sorry," Hayes grinned apologetically. "I wouldn't have bothered you, but I didn't exactly have a choice."

"Spit it out, Hayes," I barked. "What is it?"

He took a deep breath. "Parkinson and Nott are having a row in the common room, and um... we can't see them through all the smoke."

In an instant, I was up and half dressed. "Blaise! Wake up now or I'm burning your Quidditch mags!" I shouted. To Hayes, I said, "Start talking. What happened?"

"Well, we aren't really sure." He stepped out of the way so I could grab a clean shirt from the drawer behind him. "It looks like Nott tried to sneak downstairs to get breakfast before she woke up. She was probably already awake, though, 'cause she must have heard him. Maybe he tripped or something. Anyway, all we know is that a fourth year was the first one to find them, and she went directly to the Prefects, who came to me."

"The _Prefects_?"

He nodded. "They don't know how to deal with this. We figured you or Zabini might."

"Blaise? You hear that?"

"Yeah," Blaise mumbled. I heard him roll out of bed and hit the floor with a thud. "You know we might not be able to do anything, Hayes," he said, standing up and stretching.

"I know."

Outside my door, it was chaos. I wasn't sure how I'd managed to sleep through it.

The whole Slytherin body had converged at the top of their staircases. Most hadn't even bothered to get dressed. I could see Delia Withers and Marielle Carter, both wrapped in dressing gowns, standing at the top of the girls' stairs and looking on in horror. The Prefects stood as close to each other as they could, what with the seven meter gap between the staircases, trying to figure out what to do; they had to shout to be heard over the distance and the din. Over my shoulder, I could hear Winston Hayes yelling something about four Galleons a piece; he had found his earplug box again, and was advertising to whoever could hear him. Groaning, I wove my way through the crowd of boys to the edge of our staircase.

Hayes had been right; there was cloud of smoke so thick it looked as if something had exploded. I couldn't smell anything burning; that was a good sign. Flashing lights from near the center of the room told me that Pansy and Nott were still there and well – for the most part. Near the outside of the smoke cloud, I could just make out a chair with only two legs.

Blaise, who was standing behind me, whistled. "Would you look at them?" he said quietly. "I do believe they plan to do away with each other this time."

"Well?" Hayes asked. He had come up behind us while we surveyed the scene. "Can you do anything?"

"Are you kidding?" Blaise snorted. "There's no stopping them now. If we had gotten here just after they started, we _might_ have been able to drag Pansy out of it. But now... no. The only thing to do now is let them fight it out."

"I would recommend getting out of the dungeons," I said. "This could last a while."

Hayes stared at me in disbelief. "And how are we supposed to do _that_?"

"Very carefully," Blaise and I said at the same time.

"You want to round up anybody who wants to leave?" I asked him.

"While you clear us a path?" Blaise nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

I waited until he was well into the throng of people to take a deep breath and descend to the battlefield.

"Pansy?" I shouted at the top of my lungs. "Pansy, we're leaving now! You are not to let anything hit us, understood?"

I thought I heard a muffled reply from somewhere inside the smoke, so I assumed I'd been heard. And sure enough, the thick cloud somehow shifted half a meter to the right, leaving a small path to the exit in its wake.

"Blaise?" I called. He had just come downstairs, accompanied by four boys and three girls, the latter of whom he must have shouted across the gap between staircases to get. "Is that all of them?"

"Yup. We're ready."

He led the way, walking briskly and as close to the wall as possible. I took up the rear, my wand out making sure we didn't lose anyone or get hit by anything. Pansy must really have heard me, because nothing did. When we reached the exit, we flung ourselves out of it and onto the cold, dungeon floor two at a time. I went last, and the door shut behind me with a decisive snap.

"We're free!" one of the boys, a small third year, cried victoriously.

"Oh, shut up," an older, redheaded girl retorted.

Because we had nothing else to do, and because traumatic events tend to make one hungry, we made our way up to the Great Hall for breakfast. There was a total of five students there besides us: three Ravenclaws, one Hufflepuff, and one Gryffindor. They all gave us disturbed looks when we entered.

After we ate, we went our separate ways. Blaise said he wanted to go to the library; one of the girls and two of the boys went with him. The rest wandered off in other directions. I decided to take a walk.

The sun was relatively low in the sky, having just risen about an hour or so before. I meandered down the path and in the direction of the Quidditch pitch. It would be fun to fly for a bit in the early morning air, and I had a feeling I could filch a broomstick from the Slytherin shed without anyone being the wiser. It was still early enough that no one else would be around, anyway.

I was wrong. Someone else _was_ already there, and well up into the air. Whoever it was saw me arrive, even from their height. They circled around to meet me, waving, black hair windswept and sticking up at odd angles...

Of course it was Potter. I didn't know why I bothered being surprised anymore.

"Malfoy!" he greeted me happily, landing about two meters away. I resisted scowling. We were back to last names again

"Hello, Potter," I said, somewhat more stiffly than I had intended. He didn't notice; he was in a strangely good mood.

"I didn't expect to see you here," he said, still cheerful. "You always struck me as the sort to sleep in, if you could."

"If I could," I echoed wryly. His good humor was rubbing off.

"What happened?"

"The soldiers have returned to the front," I said tragically. "Translated, that means that Pansy and Nott are at each other's throats again. And not like _that_; get your mind out of the gutter, Potter. I mean wands drawn, fists raised, ready to kill. You know."

"Again?" Potter asked, shocked. "I thought they just lost a bunch of house points."

"They did. I don't think that's going to stop them."

"Wow. I am really glad I'm not a Slytherin." He ruffled his hair with one hand; the other held the handle of his broom. "Hey, did you ever finish that sketch?"

"Oh. Yeah, I suppose I did."

"Have you decided if I can see it or not?" He tried to sound as if it didn't really matter, and failed terribly. I had a sneaking suspicion that he had done so on purpose – that it was all a part of his clever plan to get me to say yes.

After only a few seconds, I reached into my pocket, certain that I was the biggest pushover in the entire world. "I guess so," I mumbled, unfolding the parchment and holding it out for him.

He took it gingerly, and his eyes widened when he saw it. Immediately he pulled it closer to his face and leaned in, examining the page carefully. I watched him without breathing.

"Wow," he whispered at last. "I mean... wow. You're really good."

"Really?" I asked, disbelieving.

When he looked up at me, his eyes were wide with sincerity. "Really," he repeated. "Thanks. For drawing me, I mean."

"You're welcome," I said softly, hoping that my face wasn't bright red. Potter handed me my sketch back, and I pocketed it quickly. He stared at his feet. I stared anywhere except for at him.

Then I remembered that I suspected him of using me.

"Um, I should probably head back to my common room," I said. "To see if things have calmed down yet. Y'know, damage control."

"Somebody has to do it," Potter agreed, laughing. I had a fleeting realization that I liked his laugh, but I pushed it away before I could think about it.

"Yeah, and it's usually me, so I'd better get back there."

"Alright." I wasn't sure if I really heard reluctance in Potter's voice, or if I was just imagining things. "Well, good luck. See you."

"Bye," I replied. I turned tail and all but ran from the pitch.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Last chapter, folks! It's been a blast! Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews, and for taking time out of your busy schedules to read my work; I hope you enjoyed yourselves!_

_Just a warning: extreme fluff abounds in this last installment. I can't seem to write anything without it turning into a fluff-ball by the end. I hope this doesn't bother you._

_As always, please review, and please let me know of any mistakes, grammatical or otherwise. Thank you in advance, and thank you again for reading!_

_Disclaimer: No matter how many times I sit in front of a mirror and scrunch up my nose, I can't seem to turn into J. K. Rowling._

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR

There was no sign of either Pansy or Nott in the common room when I returned, but the post-fight tension still lingered. Dim wisps of smoke hung around the ceiling. A couple of cushions sported large gashes, where their stuffing poked out in jagged tufts. Three of the chairs were missing legs, not including the one I'd seen earlier. A lone shoe hid in the shadow underneath a windowsill.

The few people I could spot in the room were whispering cautiously amongst themselves, holding their homework in their laps so as to look busy if the ex-couple should choose to reappear. When I stepped inside, every head in the room snapped up. Once they had ascertained that it was only me, they returned to their gossiping. The fact that Pansy could incite more fear in them than I could was a small, yet saddening, blow to my ego.

I found Hayes in Pansy's fairness corner.

"What happened?" I asked.

He shook his head, his eyes hollow. "She turned him into a toad," he said tonelessly. "A friend took pity on him and carried him up to the hospital wing about an hour ago."

I winced. "And Pansy?"

"She disappeared. Nobody knows where she is." Abruptly, he shuddered. "For Merlin's sake, human transfiguration is supposed to be _difficult_! A-and she did it just like... like that." He tried to snap his fingers, but they were shaking too much to make any sound.

"Unfortunately, Pansy doesn't seem to follow the basic expectations of magic," I said wryly, trying to comfort him.

Hayes didn't respond; he had gone back to staring at his knees and every so often twitching.

Because there wasn't anything I could do, I promptly forgot about Pansy. Listless and confused, I ambled up the boys' staircase, down the hallway, and through the door of my dorm. Blaise was the only one there. I could see his feet sticking out behind from the edge of his partially-closed bed curtains. Sighing noisily, I collapsed onto my own bed, face down.

"What's wrong with you?" Blaise inquired.

"Nothing," I replied into the pillow.

A light snort came from his direction. "Yeah. Right. What happened?"

I sat up and stared at the foot of my bed as I spoke. "Well, I just met Potter at the Quidditch pitch. Not on purpose or anything. I just happened to be out walking, and he was flying, and he saw me from the air. So we talked for a bit, and–"

Since I hadn't been looking at Blaise, I missed his pointed look and frantic arm-waving. A moment later, I was wishing desperately that I hadn't.

"You _what_?"

A shrill screech erupted from the side of Blaise's bed, and Pansy leaped up, her eyes blazing. I nearly fell over in shock. Blaise closed his eyes, a pained look on his face.

"Pansy, is it really the best idea for you to be shouting right now?" he asked.

"Is it really the best idea for you to be shouting _period_?" I cut in. "You're going to effectively destroy the hearing of all those within earshot! What are you _doing_ back there?"

Pansy shrugged innocently. "Hiding."

"_From_?"

Blaise shot me a withering look. "Who do you think?"

"Nott," I grumbled, shaking my head.

"Well, he's bound to be furious at me!" Pansy said peevishly. "I mean, sure, I _did_ turn him into a toad, but it wasn't on purpose!"

"Sometimes I really think she should have her wand rights revoked," muttered Blaise. I nodded fervently.

"So I figure the first thing he'll do when Pomfrey puts him right again is to come look for me," Pansy went on, "because, doubtless, he'll want to get back at me for the toad thing, so I decided I'd better hide and I came right up here."

"Pansy..." I said slowly. "Pansy, this is Nott's dorm too."

The girl grinned maniacally. "Oh, I know," she said. "That's why it's so brilliant; it's the last place he'd ever think to look."

Blaise and I exchanged incredulous looks. Again, Pansy ignored us.

"But that's not the point," she continued, flapping an impatient hand in our direction. "When did you start talking to Potter, and why was I not informed immediately?"

I cringed, waiting for the rest of her outburst, but it never came. When I opened my eyes, Pansy was sitting calmly on Blaise's bed, her hands folded demurely over her lap. Blaise inched away from her in horror.

"I- I don't believe it," he stuttered. "Where's the explosion?"

"Maybe this is what they call 'the calm before the storm,'" I suggested.

"Oh. So when do you reckon the storm'll get here?"

"Oh for Merlin's sake, would you two stop acting like I'm an angry hippogriff?" Pansy cried. "I'm _not_ angry! Well, alright, I _am_ a little bit nettled that you didn't even bother to tell me, but I suppose you must have had your reasons."

Blaise leaned forward to grab her by the shoulders. "Pansy, this is Harry Potter we're talking about. _Harry Potter_." He shook her slightly for emphasis. "Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?"

"I'm not daft, Blaise," Pansy reprimanded sharply. "Although I'm starting to think _you_ might be. You can't honestly think I haven't caught on. After all these years–"

"Wait, you knew?" Blaise looked startled.

"Well, of course! It wasn't exactly difficult to see. I mean, honestly! Who's the one person who always manages to get under Draco's skin? Who's the one who can always rile him up without fail, even when no one else ever can? Who's the one who's always seems to bother Draco the most, for reasons that don't make sense to any of us? Who has he talked and whined and moaned about for the past seven years?"

"Wow. When you put it that way, I can almost see..." Blaise frowned. "But still, I would have thought you'd be more... I don't know, _vocal _about it, if you knew."

"Even I can tell when Draco isn't ready to hear something. And you know he wouldn't have listened anyway, even if we _had_ tried to tell him."

"Tried to tell me what?" I asked, working my way back into the conversation. Neither of them spared me a glance.

"You reckon Potter's figured it out, then?"

"Probably. What else could he be doing?"

"You never know. Those Gryffindors have strange reasons for everything."

"True."

"Wait, _what_ has Potter figured out?" I asked, raising my voice. It didn't do any good.

"Do you think they've talked about it yet?"

"I'm not sure, Pans. I don't reckon Draco would be upset about something if they had. He said something was wrong not ten minutes ago, if you recall."

"I do. Maybe they had a tiff."

"WE DID NOT HAVE A TIFF!" I shrieked. "I'm annoyed because I haven't got a clue why Potter suddenly decided to chat with me at every possible opportunity, and it's driving me insane, and I can't stop thinking about it, and would someone please explain what the hell you're talking about?"

That got their attention. For half a second they stared at me as if I'd just spoken Martian. Then, so quickly that I almost didn't see it, Pansy was on her feet. Cat-like, she stalked over to my bed and stopped to appraise me. She tilted her head slowly from side to side, and then leaned forward until her nose was only centimeters from mine.

"What?" I asked.

Her eyes narrowed. "You've been seeing him for how long?"

My heart skipped a beat. "I've been speaking with him since last Saturday," I replied, amending her original question, "So about two weeks, I guess. Why?"

"Hmm," was her only answer. She continued to study me.

"Look, either say what you want to say or get out of my face," I snapped. "Actually, get out of my face anyway."

Rolling her eyes, she pulled back and said, "So you don't know why he started talking to you. Have you _asked_ him?"

"Asked him?" I repeated, blinking with confusion. "Um, no. I guess I haven't."

"Then you shouldn't be complaining," said Pansy firmly. "You should ask him."

"Ask him what? Do you honestly expect me to just walk up and say 'sorry to bother you, Potter, but I was wondering why it is you're talking to me in the first place'?"

"Yep."

Groaning, I dropped my head into my hands.

"Really, Drake, it's the only thing to be done," Blaise said in his most comforting tone.

"You can't go on denying yourself forever" Pansy added. "Given the facts... And we all know your preferences, after you and Blaise–"

I jerked forward, waving my hands frantically in an attempt to shut her up, but Blaise got there first. He threw a pillow at her head.

"I thought we agreed never to talk about That!" he hissed, glaring at her.

"Oh, we did, didn't we?" Pansy furrowed her brow in feigned concentration. "Oops."

"Pansy, you promised!" Blaise reprimanded.

"And what does That even have to do with this conversation?" I cried.

Pansy sighed. "Draco, honey, just talk to Potter," she said gently, but with a hint of exasperation.

"What does that have to do with _anything_?"

Pansy and Blaise exchanged a significant glance.

"She's right," said Blaise. "Just do it."

I groaned again. "You two make absolutely no sense!" I proclaimed. "What is this? Did you all decide that today was the day you'd act like you'd lost their minds and forget to tell me? Well, the joke's up. I've caught on now. This is where you all laugh and clap me on the back and go back to acting like normal people!"

Neither of them said a word. Their expressions told me that they thought I was having a fit, and they always dealt with such situations by acting as if I didn't exist. I stared at them in disbelief.

"This is insane!" I decided at last. "Right. Right, you know what?" I stood up. "I'm leaving."

"Okay," said Pansy indifferently.

Fighting the urge to throw something, I stormed from the room.

I was out of the Slytherin common room before I'd even thought about where I was going. After pacing for a few minutes outside of the entrance to Slytherin, I made up my mind to go to the library and hastily set off. I almost knocked a first year down when I barreled through the door. Striding directly to the back, I found a table near a window and sat down hard.

Pansy and Blaise were completely ridiculous! What was all that rubbish about needing to talk to Potter? And what about Pansy's list of reasons for seeing whatever she claimed to have seen? Had my friends noticed something about me that even I had failed to see?

Or was it something that I had _refused_ to see?

Frowning, I sat back in my chair, crossed my arms, and began go over the facts.

Potter had been bothering me more than anything else in the past two weeks. Admittedly, the first time he had spoken to me, I had listened because I was curious. I had wanted to know why he had sat down next to me in the first place. But throughout that conversation, and every one that followed, he never said what I wanted to hear, and I never asked him. And yet, the idea of not talking with him had perturbed me. If he didn't speak to me in passing, I worried that he wouldn't ever again, and that scared me. Subconsciously, I wanted to see him.

Potter made me feel flustered. Whenever I was talking to him, I seemed to lose control over what I was saying, and I would babble on about anything, just to keep us talking. Strangely enough, I seemed to like our bizarre conversations – I might even go so far as to say I looked forward to them. I always left them feeling happy in an odd, inexplicable way. And not only that, but I was actually interested in hearing what he had to say. I liked to see him smile and hear him laugh. Simply put, I enjoyed Potter's company.

I had begun to look for him whenever I knew he would be near, and if he didn't look at me too, I felt hurt. In my spare time, I'd begun to sketch him. Twice. And I was embarrassed when he asked to see the drawing, even though I'm normally the least humble person you could ever imagine. When I began to worry that our friendship wasn't really real, I was worried because I _wanted_ to be friends with him. I _wanted_ to see him, and talk to him, and laugh with him.

Then it hit me. I sat up so fast that my back cracked in four places.

I was in love with Harry Potter.

That puzzled me. I had only been on speaking terms for what... fifteen days? Sixteen, if I was being exact. How on earth had I managed to fall in love in sixteen days?

But then, maybe it hadn't developed in so short a time. Maybe I had always been rather preoccupied with Harry. Maybe I had always wanted to talk to him, just to know what he was like. Maybe I had always wanted him to like me, or speak to me, or in the very least acknowledge me. Maybe that was why I always fought with him; because it was the only way I knew of that I could get a reaction from him.

Maybe that was why I had refused to let myself think. Maybe I had known that I loved Harry all along.

I stood up and began to pace around the table. Enough maybes. Now that I knew the truth, what was I going to do about it? Was I really going to talk to him?

Yes, I knew that I was. Pansy and Blaise had been right. I had to. There was just too much going on: Harry suddenly developing an interest in a friendship; Granger seeming to know more than she would admit. I had a notion that if I talked to Harry, a good deal of what had been bothering me would be explained. At least, I would be able to figure out whether my slightly irrational fears of being used were correct. Anything else would just be extra.

But when was I going to ask him? Today? God, no! I shuddered involuntarily; that was much too soon. Perhaps tomorrow...

Yes, tomorrow it was. I would talk to Harry tomorrow.

* * *

When I went back to the common room and plodded up to my dorm, Pansy and Blaise said nothing. This didn't trouble me at all. I simply fell onto my bed with a shockingly loud thud and proceeded to fall asleep until dinner.

The next day, I avoided Harry. At breakfast, I purposefully kept my eyes focused on the Slytherin table. In Charms, I sat near the front of the room and listened to Professor Flitwick raptly. In Herbology, I threw myself into the work we were doing: potting one of those plants that only bloom at night (this one had poisonous stingers and gave off fumes which could knock you out for a week if you inhaled them).

In the Great Hall, I was so self-absorbed that I didn't notice that Pansy had come to lunch for the first time in nearly a week. In fact, I wouldn't have noticed if Blaise hadn't poked me in the back of the head.

"Draco, pay attention _now_," he ordered. Reluctantly, I looked up.

Pansy had just entered the room with Nott at her shoulder. Blaise and I stared, utterly bewildered, as she flounced up to where we were sitting, pulling Nott along by the hand.

"Hello, my dears," she said cheerfully, dropping into a seat next to Blaise. Nott stood by her, looking unsure.

"Um, is it alright? If I sit with you?" he asked Blaise and me hesitantly.

"Oh, of course it's alright, darling," Pansy said, yanking him down into the empty seat next to her. Then she turned to us, a stern look on her face. "Boys, Theodore is going to sit with us today."

Blaise's jaw dropped. "P-Pansy, w-w-what... y-you..." He spluttered, and then spoke no more. I took it upon myself to finish the question for him.

"Pansy, what's going on?"

Pansy grinned. "Well, Theodore and I met in the common room last night, and we had a little chat, and everything is now perfectly settled."

I glared at her. "In other words, you hooked up."

Her grin widened. "I suppose you could call it that, if you were vulgar and crass. I prefer to call it 'reaching an agreeable understanding.'"

"You would," Nott muttered, smiling slightly. Pansy reached over to take his hand, her eyes warm. Blaise choked.

Shaking my head, I looked up to see the entire Slytherin student body watching us in terror. Those sitting closest to us were moving away as quickly as they could without looking suspicious. It was almost amusing, in a strange sort of way. On instinct, I glanced around the rest of the room to see if anyone else had spotted the chaos at the Slytherin table.

Harry was watching me. As soon as we made eye contact, he pointed to Pansy and furrowed his brow in a nonverbal question. I shrugged and rolled my eyes. He smiled. Then I remembered what I planned to do later, and looked down again in a hurry.

Pansy and Nott walked to Defense Against the Dark Arts hand-in-hand. Again, I sat close to the front of the room, knowing that it would be harder to find an excuse to turn around and look at Harry. I took careful, highly-detailed notes to keep my mind from wandering, and practiced the spell we were learning with Blaise, because Pansy and Nott had paired up almost immediately. No matter where Blaise and I stood, I always faced the front of the room.

By the time my free period rolled around, I was particularly antsy. As soon as we left Professor Boyens's room, I told Blaise and Pansy that I had to run to the library to get a book. Pansy didn't even think to question me; she and Nott were making eyes at each other, and seemed to have quite forgotten about the rest of the world entirely.

Blaise gave me a funny look, though.

"You aren't doing what I think you're doing, are you?" he asked.

"I might be," I conceded.

"Right." He nodded once, briskly, and then grabbed Pansy and Nott and dragged them down the hallway towards our common room. Once they were no longer in sight, I leaned against the nearest wall to think.

If I were Harry Potter, where would I be? I came up with three places: the library, the Quidditch pitch, and the Gryffindor common room. Hoping fervently that he wasn't in the last of the three, I set off to search all of them that I could.

He wasn't in the library. All I found there were two studious Ravenclaws and one seriously nettled Madam Pince. I left before I could figure out what she was angry about.

He wasn't at the Quidditch pitch either. All I found there was some dirt and an abandoned quaffle, which I put back in one of the sheds.

Highly disheartened, I began to walk in the direction of Gryffindor tower. On the way, I passed several portraits of medieval wizards who were arguing over politics, the Ravenclaw ghost (whose name I couldn't remember), and Mrs. Norris. The cat glared at me and promptly scurried off, no doubt to fetch Filch, so I didn't hang around there long.

I was just turning a corner on the second floor when I ran right into the subject of my search. He was walking with his hands in his pockets, but his hair was sticking up at odd angles, which made me think he had just been messing with it, like always.

"Malfoy?" he asked, one eyebrow raised in confusion.

"Hi," I replied, rather breathlessly. "How are you?"

"Fine." He spoke cautiously, making the word sound like a question. "You?"

"I'm well."

He looked at me expectantly, so I continued.

"I, um... I wanted to talk to you."

Now both eyebrows were raised, and his green eyes were wide. "About anything in particular?"

"Well, yes." I took a deep breath. I'd already gone so far; there was no reason for me to stop now. "Why did you decide to start speaking to me two weeks ago?"

Harry blinked. For a split second, I was afraid that he would just turn and walk away. Then he sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"I was waiting for that," he said. "I was kind of hoping you wouldn't ask, but I knew you would. Hermione kept telling me to just tell you, but I couldn't." He looked up and directly into my eyes. "Did you know that your mother is the reason I'm alive today?"

My jaw dropped, all sense of Malfoy dignity long forgotten. "How?" I gasped.

"When I met Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest last spring, I found out that I had to die. Part of his soul was attached to me, you see, and that connection had to go. There was no other way. So when I went to meet him, I was completely resigned to my fate. He cast the Killing Curse on me, but it only destroyed the part of his soul that I had, so I managed to come back..."

He closed his eyes, and I wondered if he was remembering what it was like to die. Then he took another deep breath and continued. "Anyway, what I did, it made Voldemort mortal. And... no, never mind. The point is that when I came back, it looked as if I was lying dead on the ground. Of course, Voldemort wanted to be sure, so he sent someone to check to see if I was still breathing. It was your mother. But as she leaned over, she asked me in a whisper if you were still alive, and when I told her that you were, she told Voldemort I was dead.

"I had always thought that you were an obnoxious, self-centered git, but seeing such devotion from your mother made me wonder if I had really been right about you. I mean, she betrayed Voldemort simply because I told her that you weren't dead the last time I saw you! Obviously that meant you had to have _some _good qualities. So I made up my mind to find out. I was curious."

Throughout Harry's story, I had listened as if my life depended on it. I was in shock; there was so much I didn't know, so much that my mother had neglected to tell me. I couldn't believe that Harry was really, actually leveling with me! But during the last few sentences, my brain had started to put everything together. Now I glared icily at him.

"And that curiosity had nothing to do with the fact that you felt a debt towards my mother for saving your life, did it? Because if it did, I'll bet you only spoke to me because you thought befriending me could somehow lessen that debt – which, by the way, you only _imagined_ you owed! Ugh, you are so completely _predictable_!"

I turned on my heel and would have stomped away if Harry hadn't grabbed me by both shoulders and swung me around to face him.

"Draco, would you please calm down and listen to me for _one_ minute?" he asked, sounding half afraid and half aggravated.

I crossed my arms and continued to glare, although inside I was slightly mollified; he had just called me by my first name again, and he was still holding me in place.

"Fine. You have one minute," I said shortly. Harry snorted and let go of me.

"Okay, okay. Where was I? Oh yeah: I was curious. Um... it did have a bit to do with feeling indebted to your mum, but only at the beginning. As soon as I started talking to you, I realized you were so much more interesting than I had ever thought, and you weren't anywhere near as obnoxious as you were when we were thirteen – in fact, you weren't obnoxious at all! Okay, you were slightly obnoxious, but I don't think you could help it, and for some reason it didn't bother me, and I really enjoyed talking with you, and..."

Harry's face was flushed. He paused, and he seemed to be trying to figure out what to say next. I was certain it had been more than a minute, but I couldn't bring myself to move.

"Before long," he finally went on, "I was coming up with excuses to see you, just because I wanted to talk to you. About you, or your art, or whatever you wanted to talk about – I didn't care, as long as I got to see you, and–" He broke off and ran a hand hurriedly through his hair. "Gah, what am I saying?"

He was so remarkably adorable when he was flustered that I could only stare at him, speechless as well. But suddenly I knew exactly what he was trying to say, having just realized it myself only twenty-four hours before. I acted on impulse. Taking a step forward, I caught his jaw with one hand, pulled his face close to mine, and kissed him.

At first, Harry was so shocked that he didn't respond. But it didn't take long for my lips moving against his to do the trick. He flung his arms around me, his fists knotting in the back of my shirt, and kissed me back. My fingers immediately twisted themselves into his hair, something that I hadn't realized I had wanted to do until that moment. I nipped playfully at Harry's lower lip, making him gasp, and I took the opportunity to slip my tongue into his mouth. His hands moved now, slowly ghosting over my chest, underneath my shirt–

"Oi! You there!"

Harry and I sprung apart, breathing heavily and wiping our mouths. Filch was running down the hallway, his darling cat close at his heels. Recalling that she had crossed my path early that afternoon, I swore under my breath.

"I knew I'd find you up to no good!" said Filch triumphantly as he approached us. "It's the Headmistress's office for you!" He pointed, clearly indicating that we should go first. Harry and I looked at each other anxiously, and then hastened to move before he tried to use force. We weren't sure what he would do in such a case, and we weren't exactly keen on finding out.

Filch herded us down the hallway, up a staircase, and down another two hallways before we reached Professor McGonagall's classroom. Judging by that, I figured that class must be either about to end or have just ended. McGonagall could be found in her classroom during class, and in the Head's office at any other time. The school board had offered to find another Transfiguration professor now that she was Headmistress as well, but she liked her job too well to leave it.

Apparently, class was just about to end. Filch held up a hand to stop us from entering.

"Wait," he ordered. We stood against the wall opposite the door, and a moment later, a crowd of third years issued forth from the room. A few of them spared questioning looks for us – I held my head high and pretended not to see them – but most of them didn't notice us. As soon as they were gone, Filch stepped forward and knocked.

"You may enter," came the professor's voice from inside.

Filch opened the door, and waved us into the room. Professor McGonagall was sitting at her desk, sifting through a pile of papers. We stopped in front of her, while Filch lingered by the doorway.

"Well, Argus?" McGonagall said without looking up. "Why are they here?"

"I found 'em causing trouble in the hallway, ma'am," he replied. His voice had taken on a haughty tone, and he stuck his chin out slightly. "Attached at the mouth, they were. I reckoned I'd better bring them to you for punishment."

I was quite sure that I was dying on the spot. Of course, Filch couldn't just say that we were troublemakers. He _had_ to say that he'd caught us snogging. True, we hadn't actually been doing anything else that warranted a trip to the headmistress. Still, it was embarrassing.

At his second statement, McGonagall's head had snapped up. She studied us closely, her eyes narrowed behind her spectacles. "_These_ two, Argus?" she asked, looking at him skeptically, as if she suspected him of grabbing the wrong students in his haste to see justice done.

"Yes, Headmistress," said Filch promptly. "These two."

She sighed and set the stack of papers down. "You may go. I'll deal with them."

The grin on Filch's face was sickening. "Of course, Headmistress," he said, and he backed out of the door and shut it with a snap.

It felt like a death sentence. I glanced over at Harry; he as biting his lip, and I saw his fists clenched just out of McGonagall's line of vision. I wished that I could disappear.

"Well?" said McGonagall. "Have you anything to say for yourselves?"

I doubted that I was capable of speech. Harry managed to say, "No, Professor," in a feeble voice.

Whatever I had been expecting, our Headmistress's reply wasn't it.

"Alright, then. I suppose I ought to take five points each from Gryffindor and Slytherin, for the trouble you caused Mr. Filch. Now if you wouldn't mind showing yourselves out? I have essays that need grading before dinner."

I gaped at her. I had a feeling that Harry was doing the same.

"B-but Professor...?" he spluttered. "Are you sure... I-I mean...?"

"Would you like me to change my mind, Potter?"

"No, of course not!" Harry exclaimed.

"Well then I suggest that you and Mr. Malfoy make your way down to the Great Hall, or you'll miss the meal."

Harry gave her one more confused look, and then exited. I followed swiftly, extremely relieved that it hadn't been necessary for me to say anything.

A group of girls was passing by the outside of the room when we left. Harry was leading the way, but we were walking more slowly than they were. I waited until they were out of sight to speak.

"Well, that was weird," I said. "I expected a detention at least."

Harry groaned, grabbed me by the sleeve, and pulled me to the side. I found myself in an abandoned classroom with books stacked against the walls from floor to ceiling.

"Why did you kiss me?" he asked quietly.

I blinked at him. "Um... because I'm attracted to you?" I said slowly. It was a question, but Potter didn't seem to notice. His brow furrowed.

"Y-you are?" He sounded uncertain.

I rolled my eyes. "No, Harry, I make it a habit to kiss random people in the middle of a hall where Filch can catch me. Adds a bit of excitement to life, y'know?"

He glared at me. "Seriously, Draco."

"I _was_ being serious," I retorted. "I like you. What more do you want me to say?"

"I don't know! It just..." He looked down at his feet. "I don't understand. I thought you hated me – or at least, that you didn't like me very much. I thought you only put up with me because you thought I was mad."

I sighed heavily. "Well, I _did_ think you were mad at first. I thought you hated me too, remember? But I don't think I've hated you for a long time now."

Harry looked up at that. "What?"

"I was thinking," I said, neglecting to relay the fact that I had been doing so only because Pansy and Blaise had pretty much ordered me to, "and I realized that the reason I used to fight with you so much was because I was trying to get you to pay attention to me. I guess I'd always wanted you to talk to me, so when you did, it made me start to think about a lot of things I wouldn't allow myself to think about before. I mean, at first I was really confused, but once I figured everything out, all I wanted was to ask you for your side of the story. And I would have, but I was too afraid of what you'd say to ask you for an explanation."

"What made you do it, then?" Harry cut in.

"Well, I finally realized that I loved you, for one. That, and I was sick of not knowing."

"Oh." A slight smile was forming on his lips. "Okay. That makes sense."

"Finally," I drawled. "Is that enough for you? Or would you rather I get down on one knee and profess my love for you in the middle of the Great Hall?"

Harry burst out laughing. "No," he choked out. "No, that's okay. Really."

"Good," I said dryly. "Because I wouldn't actually do that."

Once Harry calmed down, he shook his head and said, "I reckon we should go to dinner soon."

"Probably," I agreed. "Especially since I told Pansy and Blaise I'd meet them, oh–" I frowned, "–almost two hours ago."

Harry laughed again, and suddenly his lips were on mine. I could feel the relief in his kiss, and I kissed him back forcefully, trying to reassure him. When we broke apart, we were both panting. Our foreheads remained touching, and for several seconds we just tried to breathe. Then I grabbed his hand and dragged him off down the hallway.

"What are we doing?" he asked.

"Going to dinner," I said. "My friends expected to see me a long time ago. Not to mention, your friends will probably get worried if I don't return you soon. I don't want to give Weasley any more reason to want to curse me."

"He's not _that_ bad," Harry objected. "He just... he needs time to adjust, that's all."

"Right," I scoffed. I felt him trying to pull his hand back, but I didn't let him. He jogged until he was walking right beside me.

"Should we really be doing this?" he asked, and I knew he was referring to the hand-holding. "I mean, if someone sees–"

"If that's going to be your philosophy, then no more kissing me in the corridor," I said.

"But it was an empty corridor!" he protested. I turned my head around to see him blushing.

"Yes, and right now, we're in an empty hallway," I pointed out. I squeezed his hand. "Don't worry so much. McGonagall let us off the hook, didn't she? We can't get in trouble, so what do we care if anybody sees?"

A moment later, I realized that I did care very much. We rounded the corner and walked straight into Weasley and Granger.

I dropped Harry's hand as if it was a hot coal, but it was still too late. Weasley jumped back, looking disturbed, his eyes bulging and his mouth half-open. Granger studied us calmly.

"So, you finally talked to him," she said to Harry.

He frowned in confusion. "Yes..." he said slowly. "Wait, _that_ was what you meant? You _knew_?"

"Look, Harry," she said, clearly trying to reason with him. "I'm not trying to say that you're an open book or anything, but you aren't exactly hard to read."

Harry opened and closed his mouth several times, but he didn't seem to be able to think of anything to say.

It was too much for me; I had to shove a hand over my mouth to stifle the sound. Of course, it didn't work very well. Harry rounded on me next.  
"What are you laughing for?" he asked indignantly. That only made me laugh harder. Harry crossed his arms and glared until I could speak again.

"Pansy knew too," I explained, still chuckling. "She said she's known for years."

"Did she?" said Granger, her voice colored with approval.

I nodded.

"Hmm." She pondered about that for a moment, while we observed her in confusion. Then her attitude changed completely. "Well, I suppose we'd better head to the Great Hall. Come along, Ronald." She took Weasley by the arm and began to lead him away. He rolled his eyes.

"Hurry up, Harry," he mouthed at us over his shoulder, and he followed Granger.

We watched them walk away silently.

"So, are they together, then?" I asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Yeah," Harry said.

"Must be awkward," I observed

"You've no idea," he said with feeling.

We walked into the Great Hall together. I could have sworn I felt a few hundred heads turn to stare in our direction. Almost on a whim, I leaned in to whisper my goodbye in Harry's ear. He flushed red, mumbled a goodbye of his own, and went to meet Granger and Weasley at the Gryffindor table.

Feeling happier than I had in weeks, I joined my own friends at the Slytherin table. Pansy was between Blaise and Theodore, the latter of whom had his arm around her waist. She watched me curiously as I approached.

"Well?" she asked as I sat down next to Blaise.

I smirked, and she grinned broadly in return.

"Hey! Blaise! Stop flirting!" she ordered, poking him the back. He had been talking to Marielle Carter, who was sitting across from him, and hadn't noticed my arrival. Grumbling under his breath, he turned around.

"That's rich, coming from you," he muttered irritably. "What?"

"Looks like our little Draco caught himself a Potter."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Oh? I missed it; were they sucking face as they walked in?"

"Wait, Draco and Potter?" Nott asked nosily.

"Oh yes," Pansy said. "You see, they're very much in love."

"They'll be attached at the hip before long," Blaise added. "Soon they'll be sneaking out of class to snog in the hallways."

I would have objected to their teasing, but I was too distracted. Harry was watching me from across the room, his green eyes soft. My heart stuttered loudly in my chest as our eyes met; I ignored it. We simply smiled at each other, and it was a long time before either of us could turn away.

END


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